


Duty and Honour

by spursaustralia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Slow Burn, Taboo, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spursaustralia/pseuds/spursaustralia
Summary: Dogma and Tup join the 501st Legion's Torrent Company, but the pressure of being perfect puts a strain on Dogma's friendships with his brothers. All except Hardcase.
Relationships: Dogma & CT-5385 | Tup, Dogma & Hardcase (Star Wars), Dogma/Hardcase (Star Wars)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 102





	1. Torrent Company

**Author's Note:**

> Am in rare-pair hell. Help. I saw a suggestion on tumblr about a Dogma/Hardcase fic, and haven't been able to keep it out of my mind since. This story is very character focused, both because that's what I like writing, and I'm shit at action.
> 
> Just a PSA: this is a true unrequited love fic. For some readers, the ending won't be satisfying. Just letting you know

Dogma felt his left leg vibrating lightly and bit back a sigh. A vibrating leg on its own was of some concern, but when the cause of such vibration happened to be another person, it was more of a mild annoyance. He gave the offending knee a light nudge and the vibrating stopped.

"Sorry," Tup breathed quietly next to him and Dogma gave him another light nudge, this time in reassurance.

He knew why Tup was nervous, it was a natural response to the pressure they were under, but making a good first impression was of the highest importance and took precedence over feelings of anxiety. The odds were enough against them as it was.

Dogma glanced discreetly around the small warship, observing the other clone troopers also joining the 501st’s Torrent Company. There were around 20 of them onboard, some seated silently like he and Tup and others more social. Most already had blue paint designs on their armour, symbolising that they were transferring from another unit. Dogma, Tup and two other troopers, Spark and Tye, were the only ones with clean, white armour. It was extremely rare that rookies straight off Kamino were sent to Torrent, known to be one of the most elite units in the GAR, but Dogma and Tup had been exceptional cadets. He was confident that they were ready.

Glancing sideways at Tup, Dogma saw that the same confidence was not apparent in his batchmate. Tup’s posture was telling enough, but without his bucket on, his pinched face and gnawed bottom lip practically broadcasted his stress to their new squad mates. Tup had always been prone to nerves before a battle, although on Kamino they were simulated, but today the battle had already been won. They were simply rendezvousing with the victorious Torrent on Felucia before moving out again.

This wasn’t pre-battle nerves; this was pre-meeting-your-heroes nerves.

General Skywalker, followed closely by General Kenobi, was perhaps the most popular jedi spoken about on Kamino, all the cadets wanted to fight alongside him and the ever-reliable Captain Rex. They were meeting in person perhaps two of the most important people in the Republic war effort. It was no wonder Tup was so apprehensive.

Looking down at his own pristine armour, Dogma felt a tinge of uneasiness settle in his belly; he felt inadequate. To be so unblemished even alongside the other troopers around him was disconcerting. Perhaps General Ti had made a mistake in requesting him, he may have had the necessary skills, but he definitely didn’t have the experience. Certainly not the experience to be in the presence of and fighting alongside soldiers who had been in countless intense battles.

 _Damnit Tup_ , Dogma hissed internally as he struggled to get ahold of the sudden influx of nerves. He gave Tup a slightly harder nudge with his knee, communicating his displeasure with his friend for inadvertently bringing these thoughts to the forefront of his mind. Such anxiety was unbecoming of a good soldier.

Tup glanced at him, the first proper eye contact they had made since boarding the ship on Kamino, and gave him a small smile. "We’ll be fine, brother," he said quietly.

"I know that," Dogma grumbled. _Your stress is stressing me out_ , he thought to himself but returned the smile with a slight quirk of his lips.

Now looking in his direction, Dogma couldn’t help his gaze drifting up to Tup’s hair. It was barely a couple of centimeters longer than regulation length, but any commanding officer worth their credits would notice. And who knows what they'd decide to do about it. They _needed_ to make a good first impression.

Tup caught his gaze and accompanying frown. "No one will care, Dogma," he sighed. This had been the cause of their arguments for a while now. _Hair_.

"Yes they will," he hissed quietly, making sure they weren’t being overheard by the other troopers. "We are rookies coming off Kamino, we have to be perfect-"

"No," Tup interrupted, matching his quiet tone. " _You_ have to be perfect. As long as we prove ourselves as soldiers, they won’t care about an extra inch of hair."

Dogma eyed him incredulously, " _Of course_ they will care, Tup. It’s specifically written in the regulations. Why would they write something if they didn’t care about it?"

Tup rolled his eyes dramatically but didn’t respond. Dogma glanced around again and was thankful that their little argument appeared to have gone unnoticed, the only thing worse than Tup’s stupid hair would have been if their fellow troopers had seen two new recruits straight off Kamino bickering like children. Spark and Tye on the other hand seemed to be perfectly harmonious, chatting away casually with a couple of 501st troopers. To Dogma’s reluctant frustration, _they_ both had regulation-length hair.

The ship gave a sudden shudder and Dogma grabbed the edge of his seat in brief panic, only relaxing his grip when he realised they must have been entering the planet’s atmosphere. The flight simulations on Kamino had been extensive, but nothing quite compared to the real thing.

On the other hand, argument forgotten, Tup appeared to have reverted to his earlier nervous state. At this proximity, Dogma could hear his breath going in and out in short bursts. Against his usual character and better judgement about maintaining the appearance that they were two highly capable and very-much-not-nervous rookies, Dogma reached across and lightly gripped Tup’s wrist between the plates of armour. Feeling Tup’s pulse racing wildly though his blacks, he gave his wrist the barest of squeezes before retracting his hand and reaching down for his bucket.

Tup followed suit and Dogma saw him give a look that could only be described as immense gratitude before they both pulled their helmets over their heads.

Two or three more violent shudders later, the ship stilled and the 501st troopers all rose from their seats as one with Dogma, Tup, Spark and Tye a second behind.

 _Blast_ , Dogma winced behind the protection of his bucket. _They’ll notice that_. _‘Soldiers are to move as one’, we’ve already failed_ -

The flare of heat as the doors opened brought his thoughts to a crashing halt. He knew their uniform was thermoregulated, but somehow the hot, heavy Felucian air was still filtering through his bucket and suffocating his lungs. Although, perhaps he was just panicking again.

Following the 501st troopers down the ramp, footsteps echoing on the dark durasteel, Dogma felt Tup bump his shoulder with his own. It was only a small gesture, but it grounded him, and he was suddenly grateful that he had his friend by his side. Regulation-banned hair and all.

The arriving troopers marched towards what looked like the base area, currently being cleared by members of Torrent. Keeping his head perfectly straight, Dogma observed the Felucian environment and was immensely glad that they were to be moving out soon. He had studied nearly every system when he had free time on Kamino, but the manuals couldn’t have prepared him for the sickening heat that seemed like it could cook his insides if he stayed here too long. A horrible thought struck him, _Oh no… Is my armour faulty?_ He couldn’t ask Tup if he was also feeling the oppressive temperatures, that would firstly be against protocol and secondly highly embarrassing.

The group stopped suddenly, and Dogma swallowed a lump in his throat when he saw what had caught their attention. The blue jaig eyes on his helmet were enough of an indicator, and Dogma found himself standing straighter than he ever had in his life.

"At ease, men," said Captain Rex. Dogma relaxed his posture, but only slightly. "I know the move was at short notice, but I’m sure you’ve been made aware of the losses Torrent suffered on this campaign."

He hadn’t, but Dogma supposed that didn’t matter.

"You were all chosen or recommended for your exceptional skills and attributes," Captain Rex continued. A couple of other troopers had drifted in to stand near him, all still wearing their helmets. "We will be moving out to Dantooine immediately, most of the boys are already on the transports waiting for you. Welcome to Torrent Company."

The new Torrent troopers all settled into a salute, and Dogma felt a flicker of pride when he and Tup were perfectly in time.

Once again, the 501st troopers lead the way towards the group of transports. Dogma was glad they at least knew what they were doing, he had read so many blasted manuals, but all the information was escaping him at the moment. He sucked in a deep breath, the air feeling wet and sticky in his lungs, and prayed for some mental clarity to return. It felt best to blame the heat when it didn't.

Tup punched him non too lightly on the arm when they had moved far enough away from Captain Rex. Dogma suspected that he was grinning at him through his helmet, and although he knew Tup couldn’t see his face either, he grinned back. They were officially members of the 501st’s Torrent Company. This was what they had been working towards for years.

Once onboard the transport, Dogma silently let out a couple of deep breaths. He was just starting to feel a little bit more relaxed before a hand clasped him on the shoulder, causing him to jolt in surprise. Catching sight of the two pauldrons attached to the trooper’s armour, Dogma stood to attention so quickly his armour creaked and he briefly thought he might get whiplash.

"At ease," the trooper’s mouth twitched but he was frowning at Dogma, his bucket attached to his hip. "I wasn’t aware we were bringing in shinies to Torrent."

Dogma had no idea what to say to that, he hadn’t even known that Torrent had been hit by several casualties until a couple of minutes ago. He had settled on an inoffensive and vague 'yes sir' when Spark interrupted.

"We’re the best of the best, sir!" Spark removed his bucket and grinned. Dogma sent him a filthy look that he knew Spark, and the other trooper, couldn’t see. _Bragging to your superiors does no favours for any of us, idiot_. "Kamino had to get rid of us early, we were putting all the other cadets to shame."

In an impressive display of self-restraint and adherence to protocol in front of superior officers, Dogma did not clock him on the head.

The trooper’s frown, however, had deepened. Dogma spotted a tattooed ‘5’ on his temple. "How old-"

"I like your attitude, shinie!" another trooper interrupted, his grin mirroring Spark’s. Dogma felt the transport shudder and reached for a ceiling handle as the ship rose. "What’s your names?"

"I’m Spark. This here’s Tye, Dogma and Tup," he pointed to each of them. Tye removed his helmet and nodded to the pair. To Dogma’s abject horror, he realised that it was now expected that he and Tup also remove their helmets. _They’ll see it… they’ll see his hair…_

But protocol was protocol. Tup caught his eye once they had clipped their helmets to their hips and Dogma could see the amusement etched on his face; he knew what he was thinking. _Asshole_ , Dogma thought bitterly.

"Welcome aboard," the trooper replied cheerfully. "I’m Hardcase, this is Fives."

Dogma watched them both carefully, neither appeared to be paying any attention to Tup’s hair.

"Are you an ARC trooper?" Tye asked, his voiced laced with excitement. His questioned was directed at Fives, and Dogma felt like smacking himself in the face. For some disturbing reason, he had also forgotten that the double pauldrons signified ARC troopers. And this time, he couldn’t blame it on the heat.

Fives’ frown eased, "Sure am. You got similar hopes, shinie?"

 _What’s the point in asking our names if they’re just going to call us ‘shinies’ anyway_ , Dogma grumbled internally. Tye didn’t seem to mind though.

"Of course!" he shared a grin with Spark. "Gotta aim high."

Dogma realised too late that the one with the blue facial tattoos, Hardcase, was watching him. "You two are awfully quiet," he tapped Dogma’s chest plate good-naturedly. Dogma glanced at Tup, saw he was getting no help from his friend, and bit back a sigh.

"Sorry, it’s been a long day, sir," Dogma replied stiffly, blinking in surprise when Hardcase let out a loud burst of laughter.

"I love shinies," he said to Fives, who was looking back at him with amusement painting his features. "Only time anyone ever calls me 'sir'."

"With good reason."

The transport ship lurched and Dogma realised that they, thankfully, must have been arriving at the main cruiser. He was unsure what to make of Fives and Hardcase, other than the fact he didn't feel comfortable around them. This wasn’t a new feeling though; he had never been quite comfortable around any trooper aside from Tup. It was just how he was; before Tup had made friends with him, he'd been largely alone as a young cadet.

As soon as the doors opened, Fives moved swiftly out of the transport and set off with purpose through the hangar. Hardcase gave them a wave before hurrying after the ARC trooper. The four rookies and the rest of the troopers followed out in a more restrained fashion. Dogma felt incredibly tiny when he looked around the hangar, troopers marching around and machinery being worked on, he'd never been on a ship this massive in his life.

"Interesting fellows," Tup muttered, distracting him from the overwhelming surroundings.

"Oh, so now you can speak," Dogma replied. Tup shrugged, unashamed.

"You’ve read so many blasted manuals, I thought you would be better equipped for talking to an ARC trooper."

 _I didn’t even realise he was an ARC trooper until Tye mentioned it_ , he thought, but there was no need to let Tup know that.

"Well you-"

"Shinies!" he was interrupted by an authoritative voice he just knew, without looking, belonged to a commanding officer. When he turned around, he ensured he was already standing to attention. 

Dogma blanched when he saw the source. Captain Rex was walking over, bucket off, and on his heels was who could only be General Skywalker. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tup go ramrod straight next to him and heard a very quiet ‘oh shit’ behind his left shoulder. Spark, most likely.

General Skywalker was looking a little worse for wear, he was covered in grime and sweat from the hard campaign on Felucia, but his mere presence sent jolt of energy through Dogma.

"Alright men," Captain Rex said once he had reached them. "Most of the troopers are exhausted after being in that furnace known as Felucia, so feel free head to the barracks. Report to ARC trooper Fives or I if you can’t find something to do after you’re rested." Rex paused briefly and Spark decided that this space needed to be filled.

"Oh, we just met him. He’s great," said Spark cheerfully. Dogma wanted to claw his own eyes out. And then Spark’s. What was _wrong_ with him.

"Indeed," Captain Rex eyed Spark, surprised but amused.

General Skywalker seemed to thankfully also see the funny side in Spark’s embarrassing behaviour. "Fives will love that," he grinned. "What are your names, troopers?"

They sounded off one by one.

"Spark."

"Tye."

"Dogma."

"Tup."

"Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve had rookies straight off Kamino in Torrent Company. We’ve only had two before, I think," he looked at Captain Rex for confirmation, and he nodded. "But I would be honoured to fight alongside you, I’m sure you’ll all do Torrent proud."

This was the best day of Dogma’s life. Nothing else came or would ever come close.

Swelling with pride, he gave an enthusiastic salute, seeing Tup and assumedly Spark and Tye do the same.

Captain Rex opened his mouth to speak again, but something behind them made him pause. "Alright men, dismissed," he nodded at them and they relaxed their posture. As they turned to leave the hangar, Dogma spotted an agitated Fives making his way over to General Skywalker and a resigned Captain Rex.

The four rookies marched towards the main exit and Dogma felt lighter than he’d been in a long time. Probably not since Tup had first introduced himself when they were six standard years old had he been so happy. The feeling didn’t last long. Before they reached the doors, their path was intercepted by a group of troopers on stretchers, many groaning in pain, as a stressed medical trooper and group of medical droids ushered them through quickly . It was like someone had just emptied a cold bucket of water on his head.

They were not just new troopers to Torrent Company, they were _replacing_ other troopers.

Standing in silence as the procession went through, Dogma spared a quick glance at Tup. His lips were set in a firm line, face creased with worry. Dogma wanted to tell him that the injured troopers would be okay, but he could not. He didn’t know if they would be. Instead, he deliberately stepped forward and continued on their path towards the main exit, hearing a set of footsteps behind pause before following.

It was just Tup who came to walk in time with him, and Dogma’s brow crinkled in confusion. "Where are Spark and Tye?" he asked.

"Not sure," Tup shrugged. "Think they wanted to talk without us there."

 _Good riddance_ , Dogma thought, remembering his annoyance at Spark.

"Honestly though, what was Spark thinking. Is he trying to embarrass us?" Dogma grumbled, shooting Tup a look when he snickered behind his hand.

"Come on," Tup nudged him with his elbow. "It was a _bit_ funny- you know how he gets when he’s excited. Besides, none of them seemed to mind."

"You’re right, they didn’t _seem_ to mind," Dogma said. "But his behaviour reflects badly on all of us. They’re probably discussing sending us back to Kamino right now for showing disrespect to our superiors and an inability to follow strict military protocol-"

Tup groaned dramatically, "Yes, and for my hair that’s less than one millimeter too long. You’re being ridiculous, Dogma."

"I am _not_ being ridiculous," Dogma hissed, pausing as they passed a couple of troopers also in deep conversation. "This is the Grand Army of the Republic, not some training drill on Kamino. Every rule matters."

Tup just sighed and stared ahead resolutely. In their last year as cadets, they had argued more and more. Mostly just about little things like Tup’s hair, how it was disrespectful to complain about the food, and the importance of keeping their uniform clean. But Tup had _always_ rolled his eyes at Spark’s antics, he never defended them like he was now.

 _Maybe… maybe I pushed a bit too hard_ , Dogma thought hesitantly. _We’ve had a big day._ But, while he felt a bit guilty, he just couldn’t force himself to apologise. That could be taken as an admittance that he was in the wrong, which he knew he wasn’t.

Instead, he kept quiet and an uncomfortable silence settled over the two of them.

Once they had arrived at the barracks, Dogma chose an upper bunk and began removing his armour and placing it at the end of the mat. Some troopers had already passed out on their bunks, their armour still on and their bucket discarded on the floor. But aside from them, the room was largely empty. He supposed that the other troopers were likely in the showers.

He did not look for where Tup had chosen to sleep, but he couldn't help the stab of pain he felt in his chest when he realised that they were ending their first day as Torrent Company troopers on not good terms.

Dogma let his eyes close. He would fix this when they were properly rested.


	2. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogma learns that words have consequences.

The next 20 or so hours before landing on Dantooine went by quickly. Domga didn’t end up apologising to Tup, but his friend appeared to have forgiven him and the two carried on as if nothing had happened, although he had an uncomfortable inkling that things were not as fine as they seemed. There had been need to report to Fives or Captain Rex, a maintenance trooper had caught them wandering the hallways after their rest and roped them into helping him out. Tup had huffed quietly in frustration, but Dogma was privately glad for the distraction. From all reports, it seemed that their occupation on Dantooine was to begin with a battle.

Breathing deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, Dogma pulled his bucket over his head once his anxiety had lowered to a bearable level. He, Tup and the Torrent troopers filed onto the gunships in the hangar, boots clicking against the hard flooring as they squeezed into the cramped compartments. Reaching upwards for the cables, Dogma tried to ignore the indistinct chatter echoing around him when he felt the gunship shudder and rise.

He knew whatever anxiety he was feeling, Tup would be feeling it much worse. He always did. Despite the slightly off vibe that had settled between them since being deployed, he remembered Tup’s gratitude when given physical comfort en route to Felucia.

Brushing Tup’s wrist with his gloved hand, ignoring how he started in surprise, he gave the exposed sliver of blacks a light squeeze. Tup retracted his hand and Dogma felt his heart jump painfully in his throat. So he _hadn’t_ forgiven him. But Tup continued his movement and rested him palm on Dogma’s shoulder.

They didn’t usually show each other such physical affection, Tup knowing that Dogma was largely uncomfortable with it, but with the gunship shuddering as it came closer to the surface and threat of the enemy up ahead, Dogma was thankful for his friend’s support.

Feeling the hand on his shoulder jostle unexpectedly, Dogma looked over to see that Spark and Tye had squeezed up beside them. Tup bumped Spark in return and Dogma found himself nodding at the two of them. Spark was a brainless idiot and Tye was his enabler, but they were his brothers from Kamino. The four of them had been good enough cadets to graduate early and be sent straight to Torrent Company, and with that reminder, a sense of solidarity and camaraderie swept over him. These were his true brothers.

"Alright men!" a voice yelled over the roaring of the gunship engines as the doors opened, revealing a blur of lush green and open fields. Dogma held his blaster close to his chest with one hand, the other gripping onto the ceiling cable for dear life. He sent a silent prayer for their safety to whoever was listening.

The gunship reached the ground and the troopers all bounded out, leaping straight into the action and firing on the droids up ahead. In the distance, Dogma could make out the dull whoops and battle cries, but the pandemonium was drowned out by the overwhelming sound of blood rushing in his ears as he breathed. His blaster vibrated in his hands at every blast, shooting at every droid he could see and trying to ignore the bodies that were already lying on the ground.

He had hoped that the battle would go by in blur and the droids would fall back, as they had thankfully been soon joined by other 501st units, but once had he lost sight of Tup the fighting seemed to last forever.

The nerves settled after a while, and he found it was mindless work as he followed the orders from Captain Rex sent through their comms. The only real notable event was seeing General Skywalker and a young Togruta girl, he later realised was their commander, in action. What he had heard of the jedi back on Kamino had not been exaggerated, they truly were incredible.

The battle eventually died down as the Republic troops established their position and forced the overwhelmed droid army to retreat back to their base area. The surges of adrenaline that had kept him focused for the past however many hours were starting to dwindle, and Dogma looked around, taking in the landscape as if for the first time.

An open grassy field had stretched for miles before reaching a thick forest, all lush and healthy. The field was not so open now; littered with the bodies of deceased and injured clones and broken droids, the earth upheaved and stained with sprays of deep red. Troopers were bringing the injured over to makeshift tents, their cries of pain reverberating in Dogma’s skull as he regained his bearings.

He was overwhelmed. Tup could be any one of those bodies. _He_ could have been any one of those bodies. It was only luck that he wasn't. Feeling bile rising in his throat, Dogma looked away from the tents to see if he could spot unmarked armour amongst the troopers still walking around. He would not think of the alternative just yet.

But… he knew he should also be helping with the wounded, it was typical procedure after a battle, especially one with so many casualties. Tearing his eyes away from the mingling troopers, he dragged his feet towards the tents, doing his best to not look directly at any of the injured clones.

"Dogma?" a voice behind him rasped. Whirling around, Dogma saw the previously white armour, now significantly dirty, and smiled under his helmet. It was Tup. "It is you. I was worried…"

Dogma nodded once. Suppressing the urge to give his friend a crushing hug in relief, he pointed towards the tents, "As lower ranked soldiers, it’s our duty to assist with moving the wounded."

Tup was quiet for a moment before responding, "Of course."

They moved together in silence, lifting troopers and carrying them as gently as they could towards the tents. Dogma did his best to ignore the moans of pain and silent tears that fell from their eyes, but he knew he would never forget the smell of burnt flesh. That would stay with him forever.

Tup had removed his bucket and was wiping brow after they had carried the last trooper into a tent, sweat painting his young features. Calling the makeshift rooms 'tents' was being kind; tattered thick green fabric resting over a smattering of poles was hardly inspiring, but it did its job. Dogma was itching to get out of there, the sounds and smells were overwhelming and the dim lights unnerving, but Tup had frozen.

"What…" Dogma started, turning and following his gaze. There was a trooper in unmarked armour kneeling over an occupied stretcher, his bucket discarded on the floor. Other 501st units had joined the battle, there would have been plenty of other rookies just like them… but the foreboding feeling in his gut curled painfully.

Removing his helmet, he stared at Tup. Tup stared back. He did not want to go see; it was better to remain ignorant. But Tup had already started moving, and Dogma couldn’t let him go alone.

The two of them walked slowly to their destination, ensuring that they didn’t disrupt the medics and also to delay the inevitable. As they got closer, Dogma swallowed a lump in his throat when he saw that the kneeling trooper’s shoulders were shaking violently, broadcasting his distress and anguish. Another couple of steps and the entirety of the stretcher came into view.

Tup sucked in a sharp breath and Dogma closed his eyes. Most rookies straight off Kamino tended to look exactly the same to outsiders and even other clones, but when you spent years of training with each other, the very subtle differences stood out.

There was no mistaking Tye’s broken and lifeless form on that stretcher.

Just like when he had jumped out of the gunship, Dogma could hear nothing but the rushing sound blasting in his ears. Almost simultaneously, he and Tup sank to their knees beside Spark, who was gripping the side of the makeshift bed so hard his knuckles were white. Tup gently placed a hand Spark’s shaking form, but he did not respond.

Dogma looked down at Tye again. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no giggle at his best friend’s wild antics, no excitement at making Torrent Company. He heard Spark’s shuddering breath choke on a cry and blinked a few times to control the growing liquid in his own eyes.

He hadn’t even particularly _liked_ Tye, although he was the more bearable one of the pair. _Pair_. It was always Spark and Tye, just like it had always been Dogma and Tup. Even when they had first met them, it was already Spark and Tye, and Dogma and Tup.

Spark had lost one half of his pair, and despite everything, Dogma’s heart broke for him.

They remained kneeling there, heads bowed in silence, with Spark’s shattered breathing the only audible sound between them. Eventually, Dogma tapped Tup gently on his thigh-plate and he nodded in response.

"We… we better report in," Tup said to Spark, his voice shaking slightly. Spark's only acknowledgement was a slight inclination of his head. "We’ll let them know where you are. I’m… really sorry, Spark."

Spark sniffed and nodded, still not looking at them.

Once they were outside the tent, Tup closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, his other hand still gripping his bucket. Dogma watched him quietly. He wanted to say something to comfort Tup, but they had never experienced something like this before. They had never been told what to say in these situations.

Dogma took a breath, "Spark will be okay."

Tup nodded, his eyes still closed, "I know that. But that’s not the point."

"What’s… the point?" Dogma was confused. "We knew that something like this could happen. We’re soldiers."

"I _know_ that," Tup repeated, this time with more heat as he glared at him. Dogma could feel the conversation starting to spiral. A voice in the back of his head told him to let it go, that Tup was upset and didn’t want to hear this right now, no matter how true it was.

But Dogma had never had great self-control when it came to the importance of rules.

"Tye would have known there was a chance he wouldn’t make it through this battle," Dogma said, and Tup’s glare got sharper. "Of course Spark can be upset, _should_ be upset, but he’ll need to move on at some point. The regulations specifically state-"

"How are you so _heartless_ ," Tup hissed. "How can you not even be a little bit sad?"

Dogma blinked at him in surprise, "I am-"

"If that was me in there," Tup jabbed his finger towards the tent, his voice coming out with a rasp as he started to shake with anger. "Would you have been like Spark? Or would you be quoting the fucking regulations to some other rookie, like the regs even matter right now?"

Dogma gaped at him in shock. Tup had never spoken to him like this before, and he wasn’t finished.

"No, you wouldn’t care," he stamped his foot. "You barely even reacted when you saw I’d survived the battle."

 _What? Of course I care!_ Dogma thought to himself in despair. _You’re the_ only _person I truly care about!_ But he didn’t say it, he just watched as Tup sent him one last filthy glare before stomping away towards where Torrent Company had gathered in the distance.

Casting one last look at the medical tents, he followed after Tup, his legs feeling like lead. Confused and upset, Dogma was struggling to keep the evidence of his emotions from his face, so he pulled his bucket over his head and was immediately thankful for the privacy. He let his face crinkle in misery at his friend's words.

With his chest constricting painfully watching Tup up ahead, the hard _thwack_ on his back nearly sent him into cardiac arrest.

"Glad to see you made it, shinie," the trooper said. The designs on his helmet mimicked the tattoos that Hardcase had, so Dogma supposed that it must be him. "You’re not really part of the 501st until you’ve taken out your first clanker."

Tye’s bloodied face flickered into his mind, and Dogma hunched his shoulders forward slightly, "Thank you, sir."

"Ah, you’re Dogma, right?" Hardcase whacked him on the back again and Dogma nodded, thanking the gods he wasn’t already carrying a back injury. "Please don’t call me 'sir', makes me feel weird."

Dogma decided that Hardcase already was weird, but nodded respectfully all the same.

"Good thing those other units came, hey?" Hardcase continued, and Dogma estimated the steps between them and the gathered members of Torrent, disappointed when it was still over a hundred. "Thought we were gonna be overrun there for a second. But we sent their sorry asses for the hills."

Dogma nodded again, unsure of what to say, or if he was even required to say anything. The safety of 'yes sir' wasn’t even an option now.

Hardcase didn’t seem to mind though, chatting away about mindless things, occasionally gesturing with his rotary cannon. Dogma found it oddly relaxing. There was no pressure to say the right thing, like there was with Tup at the moment, and it was taking his mind away from the image of Tye’s lifeless body and Spark kneeling over his stretcher in despair, or Tup’s expression of pure disgust as he called Dogma 'heartless'.

When the two joined the group, Captain Rex was already giving out orders for a few troopers to establish a perimeter. Hardcase left his side to jostle with some other clones, leaving Dogma standing by himself, blaster hanging loosely in his hand. He saw Tup a few meters to his left pointedly not looking in his direction and sighed quietly.

A trooper broke off from another group, and Dogma straightened when he removed his bucket and sent them both a smile. It was Fives. "Not so shiny anymore, huh?" he gestured to their now dirty armour, if Fives noticed the awkward space between them, he didn’t mention it. "That was a rough opening to the war, fellas, glad to see you made it through."

Tup and Dogma were silent for a second, and Fives’ smile fell.

Tup cleared his throat and stood tall, "Thank you, sir," he said, and Dogma was shocked that he had spoken first. "But unfortunately, Tye… he didn’t make it. Spark is in a medical tent with him, he is… upset, sir."

Fives bowed his head, a pained look on his face. Glancing sideways at Tup, Dogma wondered why he'd given a superior officer that extra detail.

"I’m so sorry for your loss," Fives replied, looking at them both directly so they could see the sorrow in his eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Tup said again. Dogma stared at the ground; he knew what Tup must be thinking. That this brother that they had met only yesterday cared more about Tye than he did. _He’s wrong_ , Dogma thought, _I do care_. But why couldn’t he show it?

Fives nodded at them once more before leaving, his kama sweeping against his legs. Sucking in a deep breath, Dogma turned towards Tup, trying to think of the right words to say. Words that would fix what was slowly being broken between them. But Tup stalked after Fives before he could even begin to explain himself.

Feeling his breath rattle in his lungs, Dogma closed his eyes for a brief second. Truth was, he didn’t know _how_ to fix this, it seemed like every time he spoke now, Tup was upset with him. Everything was so much easier when they were cadets and the only thing that they truly disagreed on was _hair_. Now Tye was dead, and everything just felt wrong.

* * *

Unlike their previous argument, this time the uncomfortable silence between Dogma and Tup did not heal on its own. Dogma was almost glad for the non-stop action in the following days on Dantooine; it meant that he didn’t have to think about their broken friendship. He didn’t have to think at all, really, just follow orders given by Captain Rex, General Skywalker and Commander Tano. It was a relief.

He couldn’t avoid all down time though. Meeting Fives and Hardcase’s other friends, Jesse and the medic Kix, had been fine, but it was seeing Spark that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

It was wrong to see Spark without Tye by his side. It was somehow worse to see Spark so uncharacteristically quiet. Dogma found himself almost wishing for his brother to say something stupid or crack a ridiculously offensive joke, but it had always been Tye who laughed at his jokes the loudest. Maybe it wasn’t worth telling them without him here.

Tup on the other hand, Dogma noted with an air of disgust, had glued himself to Fives’ side like he was some sort of hungry parasite. _That’s an overreaction_ , he corrected internally. _He’s following him around like a lost tooka_. Fives didn’t seem to mind the company, and Dogma knew that even on Kamino, Tup was easy to like. Dogma, however, was not.

The campaign on Dantooine had hit a lull for the past 24 hours, Dogma had overheard Captain Rex saying the Separatists were close to forfeiting the progress they had made on the planet, and the heavens had decided at that moment to open. He _hated_ the rain, it reminded him too much of the harder and soul crushing drills on Kamino. Sitting in a small tent with Hardcase and Kix, Dogma listened to the rain pelt down and prayed that the fragile looking fabric would hold.

"You wanna play, Dogma?" Hardcase asked from his bunk, waving the sabacc cards around. Kix was sitting beside him, looking completely relaxed. All three of them were just in their blacks due to their armour being soaked, making Dogma feel slightly exposed and uncomfortable to be under-dressed in front of brothers he barely knew. 

He narrowed his eyes, "It’s against regulations to bring contraband planetside on a mission."

" _Sabacc_ is not contraband," Hardcase grinned mischievously and elbowed Kix. "Pretty sure the regs are talking about spice, which I have as well if that’s more your scene, shinie."

Dogma spluttered, horrified.

Kix just rolled his eyes, "Don’t worry, he’s joking. I’d have his neck otherwise," Kix took the cards from Hardcase. "I doubt you’ve even read the regs, idiot."

"Hey," Hardcase replied indignantly. "I’m sure I’ve held them at some point."

Snorting, Kix began shuffling the deck. Dogma watched on quietly, there was not much else to do, troopers not on duty were just confined to their tents due to the torrential rain anyway.

"Just one game," Dogma rolled off his mattress and joined the other two. Kix raised his eyebrows at him.

"You know how to play?"

"I know the rules," Dogma replied, sitting cross-legged. Kix’s mouth twitched.

"We’re just waiting on Jesse," he said, and Hardcase let out a loud sigh. "He should be finishing his shift any second now."

Dogma’s shoulders slouched at that, another wet trooper in the tent.

"Oh, he better be here," Hardcase said. "I want to add to the tally of drinks he owes me."

They didn’t have much else to bet on, Dogma supposed. “What if Captain Rex comes in?” he asked nervously, eyes darting to the tent opening as if the captain might appear just at the mention of his name.

" _Captain Rex_ would join us," Kix replied, then paused. "Although maybe not, Rex is ass at sabacc."

Hardcase chortled at that, but Dogma bristled. That was their superior officer.

The tent opening swept open suddenly, and Dogma nearly jumped a mile in the air. It wasn’t Captain Rex though, it was Jesse. He shook his bucket free of water and started immediately stripping off the plates of armour, tossing them around the tent without much care. A forearm piece landed on Hardcase’s mattress, much to their indignation.

"The _fuck_ , Jesse!" Hardcase picked up the wet plate of armour and chucked it back at the laughing trooper, hitting him square in the chest. "We’re using your tent next time, and you better hope I’m on duty."

Jesse made his way over and dropped down next to Kix. "Yeah, yeah," he said, waving Hardcase off before looking at Dogma. "You any good at sabacc, shinie?"

Dogma shrugged, "I don’t know."

Kix raised an eyebrow at Jesse, "You already forgotten that they don’t let cadets play sabacc on Kamino?"

"Oh yeah…"

Only a couple of minutes into the game Dogma realised that his knowledge of the rules was pretty much useless; he was sure some of their card combinations were impossible without cheating.

"Ah, too bad Dogma," Hardcase commented as Dogma expectedly lost the first game. "Since you’re just a shinie, we’ll let this one slide. Sound fair, boys?"

Dogma huffed, furious that they were all ignoring such blatant rule-bending. “There’s nothing fair about how you three play. You were cheating.”

Hardcase gasped dramatically, “Cheating? _Me_?”

“ _Everyone_ cheats at sabacc,” Jesse rolled his eyes, gathering the cards to shuffle again. "It’s pretty much a rule of the game."

"No, it’s not," Dogma replied, feeling helpless. He couldn’t understand it. Why play a game with specific rules if winning requires you to break them?

"You just need to get better at it," Hardcase said, as if that was reassuring. _I want no part of this_ , Dogma thought.

"I’m going to get something to eat," he said stiffly, rising from the mattress and methodically putting on his armour. Ignoring a snicker and a 'suit yourself' from behind him, Dogma pulled his bucket over his head and walked out into the rain, head held high. The sad excuse for a mess area was only about one hundred meters away, but the huge downpour of rain was making him regret leaving the safety of the tent. But… he’d made his decision and going back inside would be even more embarrassing.

He eventually reached the mess tent and tore off his helmet, giving it a shake like Jesse had. There were barely any troopers present, Dogma guessed that most were either on duty or also in their tents, and he spied the unappetising slosh in the corner. Sighing quietly to himself, he tucked his bucket under his arm and started towards the food.

Clones rarely ate alone. In fact, they rarely had any time to themselves at all, but nearly all preferred it that way. They wanted to be around their brothers, it was the only form of home they had. Because of this, any clone sitting by himself stood out. Dogma nearly dropped his tray when he spotted the single trooper in the corner of the room, lethargically hunched over his food.

It could have been any rookie, but that ridiculous hair was like a beacon to Dogma.

Shifting from one foot to the other, he weighed up his options. He could go sit on the other side of the room and pretend that Tup didn’t exist, like he had ignored Dogma for the past few days; an easy option, but the cowardly one. Or, he could go sit with his batch-mate and try and make things right; easy in theory, but would involve Dogma having to actually speak which never seemed to go well with Tup these days.

But this was as good a chance as he was going to get, Tup had somehow managed to un-stick himself from Fives’ side for an unknown amount of time. Who knew when that would happen again.

Sucking in a deep breath, Dogma walked slowly over to where Tup was sitting and set his tray down opposite him, slinking into the chair. To his surprise, Tup barely reacted, only looking up from his food to send Dogma a weary look. _He must have seen me walk in_.

Dogma cleared his throat awkwardly, "Er, hey."

"Hi."

They stared at each other, and Dogma could see that Tup was as unsure as he was. He stood by what he had said to Tup about Spark and Tye, but when he looked at his brother, all he could see was someone who would _never_ ask him to cheat at anything. Who disagreed with, but understood, his need for procedure and rules. He couldn’t apologise for what he had said, but he could at least _try_ to mend their broken friendship.

"Tup, I…" he started, looking down to avoid the gaze opposite him. "When I saw you after that first battle, I was so happy. I was also just so… overwhelmed."

There was a beat of silence, Dogma didn’t dare look up, and he heard his batchmate sigh.

"I know," Tup replied, his voice quiet. "It was… unfair what I said. I was just so _angry_."

"At me?"

Tup nudged the slush on his tray, “Yes. Angry at everything, really.”

Dogma finally looked up at him. Tup’s face was pinched, a telltale sign he was upset, and Dogma bit back a sigh of his own.

"Life was easier when we were cadets," he said, and Tup let out a quiet huff.

"Yeah, back when you thought my hair would get me reconditioned," he said, a flicker of humour passing his face. 

Dogma’s lip twitched, "Well, it could have."

Tup hummed good-naturedly, "It feels so long ago already."

They settled into a comfortable silence. It should have made things right, speaking to Tup again, but Dogma could feel the words left unsaid hanging over them like the dark clouds outside. Spark, Tye, Dogma’s inability to apologise, Tup’s newfound friendship with Fives. With a sinking feeling in his belly, Dogma realised that things would likely never go back to the way they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know someone who cannot say the word 'sorry'. 
> 
> I feel a bit bad about creating a new character only to kill him off in literally the second chapter, but I need that CONFLICT. It sustains me.


	3. Coruscant

Despite the reunion with Tup feeling bittersweet, Dogma had still felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. It hadn’t been easy opening himself up like that, although he knew it was not to the extent that Tup had wanted, but the relief that came with it was palpable. The rain easing over-night to a very light drizzle certainly didn’t hinder his newfound contentment either. Not even Hardcase barreling him up the next morning while he was scrubbing the grime off his upper body armour could have ruined his peaceful mood, although he certainly tried his best.

“Hey, Dogma,” Hardcase appeared beside him, pausing when he saw what Dogma was doing. “You know that’ll just get dirty again. Probably in like... five minutes.”

Dogma breathed deeply, accessing the inner peace he had cultivated through the reconciliation with Tup. “I know. It’s the principle of it though, we should always take good care of our armour. If I didn’t clean it now, why would I ever clean it? Since we’re nearly always on duty, anyway.”

Hardcase hummed thoughtfully. Dogma’s hopes of him leaving him alone were dashed when Hardcase dropped down next to him, “You make a good point, shinie.”

 _At what point will they stop calling me that?_ Dogma scrubbed his chest plate with a little more force, but Hardcase seemed unaware of his growing annoyance. _Stay calm, stay calm_.

“Anyway, what I wanted to say was, _I_ am willing to do _you_ a great favour,” he grinned at him, and Dogma felt immediately wary.

“A favour?”

Hardcase mistakenly took his uncertain repetition as interest, “Yes! Well, I’ve already done you a favour, but I’m willing to do you another one. So, you're welcome, first of all.”

“I’m not following…” Dogma replied, frowning when Hardcase reached behind him and dramatically presented Dogma with a page of flimsy. “Where did you get that? We’re not allowed to have flimsy when we’re planetside!”

Hardcase shrugged, “That’s not important. But this is… I wrote out the rules of sabacc for you! This way you’ll get much better and I’m sure you’ll beat Jesse next time.”

Stunned to silence, his gaze shifted from Hardcase’s excited face to the flimsy in his hand. In block letters at the bottom of the page, underneath the handwritten established rules, was ‘YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CHEAT’.

Dogma spluttered, “You- You can’t just _change_ the rules of the game!”

“Why not?” Hardcase asked. “Maybe the guy who created it just forgot to write that part, you don’t know.”

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Dogma turned back to his armour and scrubbed with renewed fervour. Hardcase, he decided, either never got discouraged or he simply didn’t understand body language that communicated ‘piss off’. _He’s mocking me_ , Dogma thought disdainfully, _just like everyone else_.

“Anyway,” Hardcase continued, unbothered. “Since it’s in the rules and all, I am willing to teach you how to cheat. Out of the goodness of my heart. And to get back at Jesse… he may have beaten me last night. The drink tally is square again.”

“Not. Interested.” Dogma bit out. To his complete embarrassment, his eyes began to sting slightly. He kept his head ducked down so Hardcase couldn't see the evidence of him becoming upset; the stress of the past few days must have been catching up to him. _Idiot, clones don’t get stressed._

Hardcase continued to push it, “As in… not interested right now? Or…?”

Dogma might have snapped at him if Captain Rex hadn’t materialised in front of them, his bucket resting on his hip and brows pinched in focus. Dogma stood to attention quickly, spying Hardcase out of the corner of his eye hiding the flimsy behind his back.

“Hardcase, I need you for recon in five. We’ve about got them on the edge, but we need to make sure they don’t have backup we’re not aware of.”

Hardcase nodded, “Shall I get Jesse? Or Fives?”

“Get Jesse for this one,” Captain Rex replied, his gaze drifting to Dogma. “Better get the rest of that armour on, shinie. Not long left on this campaign, and they never seem to end peacefully.”

“Yes, sir,” Dogma said curtly. Captain Rex nodded to the two of them before turning on his heel and walking by the tents. Hardcase watched him go, and with his eyes still on the captain’s retreating form, he discreetly pressed the flimsy to Dogma’s chest before racing off to find Jesse.

Scowling, Dogma caught it before it could fall to the ground. It was against regulations to leave anything unauthorised behind on a campaign, and he suspected that Hardcase knew that, despite his claims that he had only ever _held_ the regulations. With a sigh, Dogma slipped the flimsy into a fold in the underside of his chest plate and then clipped it to his body. He would dispose of it when they reached the cruiser, if he didn’t die before then.

The 501st troopers were preparing for the final assault when Dogma joined them, his armour all clean and reattached to his body. He spotted Tup and couldn’t help the sullen look that crossed his face when he saw that he was conversing with Fives. It wasn’t Fives’ fault that Tup appeared to be drawn to him, but it was much easier for Dogma to be annoyed at a brother he barely knew than his batchmate he’d been friends with for years.

As Dogma watched them through the privacy of his bucket, a curling ball of unhappiness settled uncomfortably in his belly and he could feel his face getting warm, his hands twitching slightly. The unfamiliar feeling, Dogma realised, was jealousy. He was jealous that Fives could talk to Tup so easily, jealous that Tup wasn’t getting upset with anything he said, jealous that, despite their reconciliation yesterday, Tup had replaced him.

He tore his gaze away from them and started fiddling with his blaster, anything to make him look busy and not as lonely as he felt. Captain Rex ordered them over; Hardcase and Jesse had completed their recon and there were no hidden forces at the Separatist base, and Dogma felt the familiar surge of adrenaline at the promise of a battle. Captain Rex gave them their orders and they were off, eager to finish the campaign and have some proper rest on the cruiser.

Again, Dogma’s job was relatively easy. The planning and complicated maneuvers were left to the higher-ups, leaving him and most other 501st troopers with the mundane task of ‘see droid, shoot droid’. He had thought before arriving on Dantooine that Torrent Company campaigns would be less straight-forward, although perhaps this was just a part of war, maybe war was just sort of boring sometimes. Good thing he liked boring.

Keeping one ear on his comms and the other on the battle around him, he could hear the joyful cheers of the troopers when the base had been re-taken. Dogma breathed a sigh of relief, aiming his blaster at the remaining droids at ground level and gunning them down. This campaign had definitely been top-heavy, starting difficult and ending relatively simply, but Dogma still kept an eye out for Tup and gave a discreet thumbs-up to a trooper in unmarked armour he hoped was him. He nearly passed out in relief when the gesture was returned.

Once Torrent Company had been rounded up after the battle, Captain Rex began giving orders about a clean-up and Dogma twitched when he heard a couple of groans of frustration. _The fucking nerve_ -

But Captain Rex wasn’t impressed either, “Anyone who complains is on double duty when we get back to the cruiser.”

Dogma didn’t bother repressing a smug smile at that, his bucket shielding his face from others. He liked Captain Rex.

They spend the next standard hour disposing of the broken battle droids and trying to make the environment look like it hadn't just been stampeded by hundreds of clones and droids. Dogma couldn't help the look of disgust that was imprinted on his face during the entire clean-up, his bucket keeping these thoughts private. These droids had killed Tye, had killed many of his brothers and even some of the civilians on Dantooine. The Separatists were despicable. 

Making his way to the transport shuttles waiting once they had finished, Dogma saw many of the troopers were dragging their feet and looked positively exhausted, some even with their weight being supported by another brother. _They must have been on duty for months_ , Dogma thought to himself, clutching his bucket to his hip. He wondered how long clone troopers could go from campaign to campaign without a break. To his surprise, Tup slid up beside him and they walked in time to the transports.

“Apparently we’re heading back to Coruscant,” Tup said, as if reading his mind. “That’s what Fives said anyway.”

Dogma burned a little at the mention of the ARC trooper, but kept his tone even. “He would know, I suppose, he is a higher-ranking officer.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Coruscant,” Tup said wistfully. “Apparently they have the all different kinds of foods from all over the galaxy. And there’s girls.”

Dogma sent him a long look at that, but Tup just shrugged, his expression cheeky.

“What? Come on, Dogma. You can’t say that hasn’t crossed your mind, we’re soldiers but we’re still _men_.”

Dogma shrugged, it honestly hadn’t. On Kamino, there was hardly ever an opportunity to explore sexuality or preferences. The only people he saw regularly were other clones, for which relations were strictly forbidden with the threat of reconditioning and even decommissioning, and the Kaminoans, who honestly disgusted Dogma to even think about in that context. There was General Ti, who was objectively beautiful with her soft voice and regal nature, but he had never felt anything towards her aside from admiration.

“Well,” Tup continued. “ _I’m_ excited, anyhow. Maybe you’ll feel the same way when you see how pretty the women are up close, or the men, I suppose. Or any species.”

Turning his head to the side, Dogma rolled his eyes at his batch-mate’s rambling. “Is the time on Coruscant going to be a mission?” he asked, discreetly changing the subject. They reached the transports and Dogma ignored Hardcase’s wave, still peeved about the flimsy pressing against his chest.

“Nah, it sounds like it’s time off, Fives was complaining about how long Torrent’s been off-world.”

Dogma hummed at that. So, his observations about their exhaustion had been correct. Gripping the handle on the ceiling, he spied Spark in the corner, his bucket still on. _We should say something to him_ … but what could he say? He had told Tup that Spark would move on, but he still hadn’t reverted back to his wild old self, and Dogma was wondering how long it would take, if it ever happened at all. It was pretty clear that he wasn’t any good at the whole emotional support thing… but Tup was.

Catching Tup’s eye, Dogma jerked his head discreetly towards Spark. Tup followed the movement and Dogma saw the realisation dawn on his face. Nodding at him, Tup made his way through the cramped transport to where Spark was standing. Dogma watched them briefly, before focusing on keeping his balance as the ship shook and rose from the ground.

“You hear we’re getting some free time, shinie?” it was Jesse, flanked by Hardcase and Fives.

Dogma nodded and remembered that they had requested he not call them ‘sir’ in casual settings. “Yes, Tup told me,” he tilted his head to where Tup had coaxed Spark into taking off his bucket.

“Four whole days,” Fives sighed. “I don’t even know what to do with all that spare time.”

“I do,” Jesse replied, and Hardcase snickered next to him.

Dogma was about to ask ‘what’, when he remembered what Tup had said about the ‘women, men, any species’. These brothers were older, _and_ they had been offworld for months.

“You’re coming with us to 79’s, Dogma,” Hardcase grinned at him. “That’ll take a bit of the shine off ya.”

Dogma was almost too afraid to ask, “… 79’s?”

Fives took pity on him, “It’s a clone bar on Coruscant. Brothers get drinks there for free, and it’s very welcoming.”

“Oh,” Dogma replied. He’d never drank alcohol before, but he remembered when Spark had snuck into the medical bay on Kamino and stolen a bottle of medicinal spirits. They had watched with morbid curiosity as he downed half the bottle, slurring his words and wobbling on his feet before vomiting on Tye’s bunk. Nearly gotten himself reconditioned for it too. Dogma had been unimpressed, to say the least. A thought struck him, “Why do you bet on drinks in sabacc then, if you can just get them for free?”

“It’s the principle of it,” Hardcase said, as if that made sense, and Fives nodded sagely.

Biting back a sigh, Dogma glanced back at Tup and Spark. It looked like Tup had gotten Spark to start talking, at least, although he still looked devoid of any hope of happiness.

“He doing alright?” Fives had followed his gaze, and Dogma watched the ARC trooper carefully. This genuine and open care for his brothers was probably why Tup liked him so much. _More than me, anyway_.

“It… might take some time,” Dogma replied, it was best to just say the truth in this situation, no matter if he disagreed with it. Besides, it was obvious to anyone who looked at Spark for more than two seconds that he wasn’t doing very well.

Fives sighed deeply, “I know the feeling.”

Beside him, Hardcase and Jesse were quiet. _They’ve been fighting this war for a long time_ , Dogma thought to himself as he felt the transport shake and drop, signaling that they were arriving at the cruiser. Tup returned to their side as the doors opened and they all filed out, ready to perform their duties in preparation for landing on Coruscant.

* * *

“I don’t think I want to go.”

Tup sighed dramatically and chucked the civvies at Dogma’s face. “It’s for team morale, Dogma. Besides, the drinks are _free_. Why wouldn’t you want something that you don’t have to pay for?”

 _Because being around them without the safety of protocol makes me uncomfortable_ , he wanted to say, but he knew Tup wouldn’t understand. Tup was shy, but he was also brave and loved to try new things. That made him popular. Dogma would never be like that; it just wasn’t in his nature.

“I’d rather just sleep for twelve standard hours,” Dogma replied honestly, and Tup snorted.

“Maybe you’ll actually enjoy yourself,” Tup pulled the civvies shirt over his head. They were in the corner of the Coruscant barracks for Torrent, most of the other troopers Tup had made friends with were filing reports from the past couple of months of campaigns and they’d been left to their own devices. “If you’re worried about what happened to Spark that time, I think that’s pretty easily avoided. Don’t drink half a bottle of the most potent medicinal alcohol in the galaxy and you’ll be fine.”

Dogma couldn’t help the snicker that escaped and Tup grinned at him, delighted with the reaction. “Gods… if we were regular humans, he would’ve died.”

Tup laughed, “Yep, he’s damn lucky we’re not.”

Watching Tup put on the rest of the civvies, he let out a quiet sigh and reached for his own pair that had hit the floor. He would go to 79’s. For Tup.

Tup smiled happily when he saw him putting on the dull clothing, and Dogma decided that it would be worth it. “We should go find Spark,” Tup said when they were both dressed. “He should come with us too, maybe it’ll help make him feel better to be around his brothers.”

Dogma nodded, “I think I saw him go in the ‘fresher before.”

“He might still be in there then,” Tup replied and they made their way to the large ‘fresher connected to the barracks, pausing when they went through the door. Spark was at the sink by himself, splashing cold water on his face and neck. Dogma and Tup looked at each other cautiously, unsure if they should disturb him. Even with him leaning over the sink, they could see he was upset.

Spark made the decision for them. “You guys going out?” he asked, looking at them unashamedly in the reflection of the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was blotchy and red, he’d clearly just been crying. Hard.

“Uh,” Tup said, glancing at Dogma. “We wondered if you’d want to come to the clone bar with some of the Torrent guys, but if you’re not feeling up to it-”

“No, I’ll go,” Spark interrupted, wiping the water off his face with his hands and flicking it on the floor. “Promise I won’t chuck up on your bunks,” he grinned, looking slightly deranged, and strode past them and out the door.

Dogma turned slowly to stare at Tup, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He could already see it being a mistake to bring Spark along, but they both couldn’t do anything about it now. It wasn’t their place to tell another trooper what to do. 

Once Spark was dressed, the three of them waited outside the barracks for the others, letting the cool Coruscant breeze blow through their civvies. Dogma and Tup chatted awkwardly, things were no longer easy and fluid between them, while Spark was silently leaning against the building, staring at the ground. The sun had set an hour ago, and Dogma could see that Spark was starting to get restless.

“Do we have to wait for them,” he grumbled, giving up his silence. “I don’t know how much longer I can take listening to you two talk like you’ve only just met.”

Dogma spluttered indignantly, “We’ve been waiting barely ten minutes, Spark.”

“Well, why can’t we just go now and meet them in there?”

Dogma was getting the sense that the reason Spark wanted to go to 79’s was not for his brothers. “Because… it’s for team morale.”

Rolling his eyes, Spark pushed himself off the wall. “Like you care about that, Dogma,” he said with venom, and Dogma felt a pang of hurt in his chest.

“That’s unfair-” Tup started, but Spark interrupted.

“I’ll meet you guys there,” he said and left them. They watched him go, the coloured lights from the buildings illuminating him until he was out of sight. A heavy sigh passed through Tup's lips.

“He’s just lashing out, you know,” he reassured him. Dogma disagreed. _I know that’s what you think of me too, Tup. It’s what everyone thinks of me_. “I knew he and Tye were close, but I didn’t think his death would affect him this bad. I didn’t think clones _could_ be like this when a brother dies.”

Dogma crossed his arms, as if to press the hurt feeling out of his chest. It didn't work. “Unfortunately I don’t think we’ve seen the worst of it yet, either.”

Nodding unhappily, Tup brushed a hand through his wavy hair. It had grown even more over the last campaign, becoming obviously longer than regulation specified length. Dogma couldn’t keep his eye from twitching at the sight and Tup caught his gaze.

“Don’t even _start_.”

He didn’t get a chance to start though; Fives, Jesse, Hardcase and Kix had finally arrived, still in armour.

“Aw, all dressed up, shinies!” Hardcase laughed and Dogma glanced down at his civvies. The dull grey surely did not qualify as ‘dressed up’ on any planet. “You’ll find people are more impressed by the armour, it’s why Fives hardly ever takes his ARC gear off.”

Fives shoved Hardcase good-naturedly, turning to the rookies. “Is Spark joining us at 79’s?”

Dogma and Tup shared a quick look before Tup answered hesitantly. “Uh, he left already… with some other troopers. Said he would see us in there.”

Even Tup, with his obvious fondness of Fives, wasn’t going to expose their fellow rookie’s troubles to a superior officer just yet. The older troopers seemed to accept the answer and hustled them into a speeder. Dogma barely listened to their chatter as the speeder whizzed through the air traffic, leaning his head on the side of the transport, he couldn’t even really admire the bright lights of Coruscant after dark. Anxiety was curling in his stomach, and he could think of nothing else.

Reading as many manuals and informative material as he had, he was aware of the effect that alcohol had on the human body. Even a body as genetically modified as his. It took away your inhibitions, helped you to forget appropriate behaviour and expectations, and made you do things you wouldn’t regularly do. The thought of that honestly frightened him. Was this fear and anxiety what Tup felt before a battle? Dogma felt a sudden surge of sympathy for his batchmate. These feelings were awful.

A hand grasped his shoulder and Dogma felt a surge of affection, Tup had recognised his anxiety just like he had for him. But when he turned his head, it wasn’t Tup. It was Hardcase. Dogma tried to quash the feeling of disappointment.

“Alright, Dogma?” he asked. In the squashed confines of the speeder, Dogma could see the individual lines on Hardcase’s face as he frowned at him. It was an unfamiliar expression to see on him, and Dogma could feel his own face starting to burn with embarrassment that his fear was obvious to someone who seemed so oblivious to everything else.

“Yes,” Dogma replied curtly, looking away from Hardcase’s concerned expression. “I’m just a little tired.”

“Oh. Well then you don’t have to come out tonight, pretty sure at least Jesse will be at 79’s every night during this break.”

Dogma paused, “ _Every_ night?”

“Oh yeah,” Hardcase nodded sagely. “I was doing some research, you know, practicing my reading and all that, and apparently it’s called ‘alcoholism’.” Dogma let out a quiet snort and Hardcase grinned at him. The speeder was starting to slow down, indicating their imminent arrival, and Hardcase leaned in to whisper. “If you want, you can go back to the barracks before we go in. I’ll cover you, I’m a great liar.”

Somehow, Dogma doubted that. He eyed Hardcase with confusion, why was he being like this? What was his angle? A folded piece of flimsy with the rules of sabacc on it burned in his pocket. Dogma hadn’t had the time to throw it in the garbage yet. They’d arrived planetside, been debriefed and reminded of appropriate conduct during their time off, showered, then came here. He hadn’t even had time to breathe. Hardcase’s offer was enticing though… but he had told Tup he would come. It’d only draw him closer to Fives if he left now.

“No… it’s fine,” Dogma said. “I can rest after.”

Hardcase shrugged in acceptance and the six of them hurried out of the speeder. Dogma took one look at the bright neon lights of the building in front of him, the clones staggering around with half empty bottles sloshing around in their hands, and the suspicious puddle of liquid a two meters to their left and immediately regretted his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was writing this chapter and realised it was getting a bit long with not really an end in sight lmao, so I had to cut it off somewhere. Apologies.
> 
> Hardcase is so fun to write, he's one of those sneaky good dudes.


	4. 79's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogma's first time at 79's somehow goes worse than he expected.

The anxiety that had settled somewhat with Hardcase’s jovial attitude had quickly returned with a vengeance. Dogma soon found himself crammed into a booth between Kix and Hardcase, having to concentrate to make out what they were saying even in close proximity due to the booming music. Spark had not yet made an appearance, and he wondered if their fellow rookie had in fact made it to 79’s at all.

Jesse returned from the bar with a tray of drinks of various appearances, and Dogma noted with concern that there were significantly more full glasses than there were clones in their booth. The image of Spark violently vomiting on Kamino sprang to mind again, and he crinkled his nose in disgust at the thought when a glass was shoved in front of him.

Jesse laughed, “Don’t be like that, shinie.”

Dogma felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment when he saw they were all looking at him, overcome with a need to defend his reaction.

“It’s not- I was just reminded of Spark,” he looked across the booth to Tup for support, hoping that he was comfortable enough with these troopers that he would be willing to speak up. Thankfully, he was.

Tup snorted, “Oh yeah, Spark got his hands on some medicinal spirits on Kamino. It didn’t end very well.”

They all erupted with laughter and Dogma sent Tup a grateful look.

“My poor brother’s been traumatised!” Hardcase laughed and slapped his shoulder, holding his drink in the other hand.

“He sounds like the life of the party, where is he?” Jesse asked, looking around the room. “I want to know how he did it. And how he’s still alive.”

It would be nearly impossible for Dogma to find Spark in the dimly lit bar amongst many other generic looking troopers in their civvies, let alone Jesse who barely knew him at all.

“We haven’t spotted him yet,” Tup replied, a concerned frown starting to form on his face. “But I’m sure he’ll come over when he sees us.”

Dogma had a feeling that he wouldn’t, and when Tup looked at him, he knew he thought so too. Spark wasn’t in a good headspace at the moment. Eyeing the drink in front of him warily, Dogma gripped the cool glass tightly and took a sip. It wasn’t completely awful to feel it burn his throat slightly as it went down, making a pleasant warmth develop in his chest, but the bitter aftertaste made him wince. He supposed that chasing that initial feeling was what made people drink so much, seeing another clone stagger past their booth.

Tup seemed to agree with his conclusion, “This isn’t so bad, not as strong as I thought it would be.”

That was apparently a mistake, or perhaps exactly what the others had wanted to hear.

“Oh ho ho,” Fives jeered playfully as Hardcase shook with laughter beside Dogma. “Tup is unimpressed. Maybe you’ll like… this one more.”

He slid a smaller glass towards Tup, who looked back at Fives with wide eyes. Dogma could see that this liquid, unlike the pale blue one they’d initially been given, was clear. This didn’t seem like a good sign.

“Tup-” he started, but his batch-mate waved him off. Tup was shy, but he was also wildly competitive, and Fives had clearly just presented him with a challenge.

Hardcase leaned forward eagerly, “You drink it all in one go.”

Placing down the bigger glass, Tup reached for the small one and raised it to eye level, as if checking to see that it only contained liquid. Even with the music blasting and other clones talking loudly around them, the quiet anticipation within the booth was palpable. _What kind of a reaction are they hoping for?_ Dogma wondered, and realised that he had also unconsciously leaned in.

Tup shrugged and, like Hardcase had recommended, downed the contents in one gulp. Dogma held his breath. Tup, empty glass in his hand, suddenly shuddered violently and a single tear fell down his cheek.

There was a pause, and then the booth erupted with raucous laughter. Dogma covered his mouth with his hand to hide mirth, but Hardcase beside him was practically wheezing and Fives slapped the table with glee.

Tup contorted his face in revulsion, “That’s fucking _terrible_ ,” he rasped. “Ugh, why would anyone drink this stuff?”

Wiping a tear from his own eye, Jesse replied, “It gets you drunk faster. Gods, that’s one of the funniest reactions I’ve seen. Even better than yours that time, Kix.”

Kix simply rolled his eyes, grinning into his glass. Dogma brought his own drink to his lips and decided a second later that the second sip was definitely worse than the first.

“We’ve got one for you too, Dogma,” Jesse turned his attention to him, and Dogma saw with a sinking feeling that there was in fact one more small glass sitting innocently on the tray.

“Try it Dogma, it’s not so bad now,” Tup encouraged, his voice still sounding rough, and Dogma sent him a flat look.

Fives grinned, “Yeah, you can’t possibly do worse than Tup _crying-_ ”

“Hey! It’s a perfectly natural reaction to extreme stimulus.”

That set off another round of laughter, but this time Dogma didn’t join in. He could feel that burning jealousy again, that Tup was already so comfortable with these troopers that he didn’t mind them laughing at him. But Dogma wasn’t like Tup, he didn’t like trying new things and he hated being laughed at. Not even these new feelings of jealousy could change that.

“Uh, no thanks,” Dogma said, hoping they would just drop it. Jesse and Fives groaned dramatically and Tup looked at him with mock betrayal. He gripped his glass of unidentified blue tighter in his hands.

“Come _on_ , Dogma,” Tup said and raised a brow. Dogma’s goodwill towards him from earlier was vanishing quickly. “It’s for _morale_.”

Dogma wasn’t sure if he was throwing his, Tup’s own, or Spark’s words back at him, or whether it was to mock him or encourage him, but it hurt all the same and he could feel his face burning with embarrassment despite his deepening scowl. Sandwiched between Kix and Hardcase, he had nowhere to go or hide. There was the option of being assertive and telling them all to go fuck themselves, but he didn’t want to ruin the evening.

Resigned to his fate, he was about to reach out and take the glass when it was snatched away from in front of him. Dogma blinked in surprise.

“ _Hardcase!_ ” Jesse complained, throwing his head back in frustration. “He was going to drink it.”

Next to him, Hardcase shrugged, placing the empty glass back down on the table and wiping his mouth. “He was taking too long. What, you think I’m gonna let prime Corellian spirits just _sit_ there?”

Dogma stared down at the table as Jesse and Hardcase argued without venom, bringing the blue liquor up to his lips to try and mask his remaining embarrassment. Small mercies, at least the third sip was better than the second.

The conversation moved on from there, Dogma’s refusal to drink from the tiny glass apparently forgotten. He half listened as Fives got into a story about a campaign on Ithor, Kix complaining about Hardcase’s snoring and suggesting that perhaps he had a medical condition that made it particularly loud, even Tup contributed a story about his hair and his dream to grow it as long as possible. That was particularly popular.

“You’ll have the longest hair in the GAR,” Fives said, his voice airy in admiration. Hardcase had returned earlier with another couple of rounds of drinks, thankfully all blue, and Dogma suspected they were starting to have an effect. Drinking much slower than the others, he personally felt fine, aside from being annoyed at Tup.

“Even longer than _her_ hair!” Tup made a grand sweeping gesture to a human female who was talking to a trooper at the bar. Her hair was dark, long and wavy, reaching all the way to the tops of her thighs. That sent Fives, Jesse, Kix and Hardcase into peels of laughter, their imaginations running wild.

Dogma had to physically press his fist to his mouth to stop himself from recounting the appropriate hair length from the regulations manual, he knew it wouldn’t be a welcome comment.

His self-control was in vain, however, because Tup felt like throwing him under the speeder anyway. “Dogma doesn’t want me to achieve my dreams though,” he huffed, and Fives gasped, his glass tilting dangerously in his hand.

“Dogma! How could you?”

Feeling the frustration beginning to build, Dogma scowled. “It’s already longer than regulation-length, not to mention that hair that long would be highly impractical.”

Jesse and Fives groaned dramatically and Tup exclaimed a ‘see what I mean?’ to the two of them. Dogma’s glare was ignored.

“You could hide knives or something in it…”

“That would just _cut_ the hair, Hardcase.”

Dogma felt incredibly unwelcome. Just like with Tup nowadays, he couldn’t seem to say anything right, even to his brothers. Spying a refresher symbol in the corner of the room, he muttered a quick ‘’fresher’ before getting up and squeezing past Hardcase. Music blasting in his ears, he suddenly felt desperate for the privacy of a ‘fresher stall and strode quickly towards the door.

Once the door slide closed behind him, he let out a sigh of relief, the music was at least at a tolerable level in here. There were only two other troopers in there with him, one was at the sink washing his hands and the other staggered dangerously from a stall, leaning onto the ‘fresher wall for support. Dogma avoided eye contact with both of them and locked himself in a stall, finding solace in the protection of the close four walls.

He exited the stall a minute later, sighing in disappointment when he saw the highly intoxicated trooper was still there, groaning unhappily as he bent over the sink. Dogma moved as far from him as he could and washed his hands, looking at his reflection in the grimy mirror. Turning to leave, a horrible thought struck him. He peered closely at the trooper dressed in grey civvies.

“ _Spark?_ ” he asked, hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t.

“Hmm?” Spark replied, his head still resting on his arms.

“What are you _doing_ , you idiot,” Dogma moved closer to him, still maintaining a meter of safety between them. “We’ve been waiting for you for ages.”

Spark tilted his head to the side so Dogma could see his face. “I’d know that… whiny tone anywhere,” he slurred, eyes heavily lidded. “’m surprised you’re still here, ya prick.”

Dogma bristled at that, “You’re the prick, behaving like this. How are you planning on getting back to the barracks in this state? You could barely walk just now.”

Spark shrugged and closed his eyes, breathing heavily against the sink. Dogma pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned in frustration; he couldn’t just leave him here. No matter how much Spark irritated him.

“Look,” he started, and Spark reluctantly opened his eyes again. “I’m going to go back to the barracks now anyway, I’ll take you.”

Spark let out a huff of laughter, “Oh how kind of you, Dogma. What a gentleman. My hero.”

Ignoring him, Dogma hesitantly braced his arm underneath Spark’s armpit, trying not to jostle him too quickly in case it would cause Spark to empty the contents of his stomach all over the sink and him.

“If you vomit on me, I will smack you,” he threatened. Spark just snorted in reply and gave him a sloppy salute. They slowly made their way towards the door, Dogma’s steadying hand allowing Spark to stay upright and walk in a semi-straight line. “What are you doing anyway, drinking this much. They specifically told us in the briefing to maintain appropriate conduct in public. Besides, you’re the one who _actually_ knows how it affects us.”

“You don’t think that’s exactly why I did it?” Spark garbled, leaning heavily on Dogma. “Doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand. No one does.”

The fresher door opened and Dogma half dragged Spark out, his arm already starting to get sore. He could feel a headache beginning to form, and the return of the deafening music wasn’t helping. “No one understands what?”

“You… you wouldn’t understand,” Spark replied, and Dogma sighed deeply, giving up. Looking around for the booth, Dogma frowned when through the continuously building crowd he could see that there were six troopers sitting around the table. The shaved blond hair stood out like a beacon and Dogma muttered an ‘oh shit’ before yanking Spark to where they wouldn’t be seen by them.

“What the… what the fuck,” Spark groaned eloquently. “Did we just teleport?”

Dogma managed to stop himself from smacking the back of Spark’s head. “No, you absolute idiot. Captain Rex is here.”

“…So?”

“ _So_ , we can’t let him see you like this!” Dogma gestured to his inebriated form, and Spark looked down at himself, confused.

“Why? You think he’s never seen a drunk shinie before?”

“Drunk shinies will at least look like they’re having fun,” Dogma guessed, but he didn’t really know. Tup at least had looked like he was having a good time. “You’ve been drinking by yourself, _and_ you’ve been upset. They might take you to get assessed or something, I read about it in the regulations manual.”

“I don’t want to be assessed,” Spark whimpered, horrified. Dogma sighed in relief and looked for a way round to the main exit that would keep them clear of the booth. He felt a pang of guilt as Spark hobbled next to him as they moved; what he had said was technically true, they _did_ assess clones that were expressing depressive behaviour, but that hadn’t been his main concern. Dogma just really didn’t want Spark to embarrass him in front of Captain Rex.

_I’m a bad person. And a terrible brother._

Finally, they reached the safety of the main doors and Dogma swore he had never felt anything as incredible as the cool Coruscant air hitting his face. Spark was really dragging his feet now, clinging to the back of Dogma’s civvies and groaning every few seconds.

“Lemme,” he slurred. “Lemme just… sit for a second.” He dropped to the ground before Dogma could protest. Dogma was at least thankful that they were off to the side of the building and not directly in the line of sight of everyone entering and leaving 79’s. Remaining standing, he looked down at Spark, who had his head in his hands, and crossed his arms impatiently.

“Spark…”

“I’ve lost _everything_ ,” Spark whispered, his voice breaking. Dogma sighed and sat down opposite him, unsure of what to say but knowing he needed to get him back to the barracks where he could sleep this off. Many troopers passed them, laughing in groups and even singing, paying no mind to their display. Perhaps it wasn’t uncommon to see people just sitting down outside of a bar, he wouldn’t know.

Looking back at Spark’s shaking form, Dogma knew there was nothing he could say to make things better or even worse. Tye’s death had hit him harder than Dogma would have thought possible for a clone, he had never seen this kind of grief before.

Tentatively, he reached his hand out, for what, he wasn’t sure, but Spark weakly pushed it away.

“Don’t,” he said. Resigned, Dogma rested his hands in his lap and they sat there in silence for a few minutes, letting the cool air wash over them and listening to the faded boom of music. It would have almost been relaxing if not for Spark’s choked breathing.

A terrible thought suddenly struck him, “Oh no, how are we going to pay for the trip back?”

Spark tilted his head up and looked at him with bleary eyes, “Guess you’ll have to ask the… the _captain_ for some credits.”

Dogma stared back at the building, horrified.

Spark laughed and then coughed, which then morphed into dry retching and Dogma practically threw himself away from him, scrambling on hands and knees. They both looked ridiculous, and Dogma was immensely thankful for their relative anonymity, but still no one was paying them any mind.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Spark slurred when he had pulled himself back together, both from the retching and from his grief. Dogma still maintained two meters distance, sitting and watching him warily. “Anyway, I was joking. I’ve got some money,” he patted the left pocket of his civvies and Dogma heard the clink of credits.

“Where did you get them? Regular troopers are not allowed to carry credits, it’s against the regulations.”

“Oh, are you… complaining? You want me to hand myself in to Captain Rex right now?” Spark made to stand, and despite them both knowing it was an empty threat and that Spark couldn’t stand without assistance, Dogma still shook his head quickly. “Gods, you’re such a suck up.”

Scowling, Dogma got up off the pavement and pulled Spark up with him, letting him find what was left of his balance. At the speed of a crawl, they slowly made their way back to the barracks. Spark managed to avoid vomiting on the return speeder and Dogma was practically supporting all his weight by the time they made it to the building. Avoiding looking at the troopers standing guard, who he knew were amused with his plight behind their buckets, he dragged Spark to the Torrent Company sleeping quarters and virtually threw him on an unoccupied bunk. As far as he could tell, Spark passed out as soon as his face hit the pillow.

Dogma stared at his unmoving form in barely contained anger, hearing a snort from the bunk adjacent to them.

“First night on Coruscant?” the trooper asked sleepily, but Dogma could see his eyes were bright with amusement. He nodded unhappily and climbed up to the bunk above Spark, stripping off his civvies. “There’s always at least one that goes too hard.”

Huffing in response, Dogma wrapped the blanket around himself and tried to ignore his aching body. Practically carrying another clone was hard work. He closed his eyes and silently vowed that he would _never_ go back to 79’s again.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The next morning, Dogma was notified that Captain Rex wanted to see him, Tup and Spark in his office quarters. Heartrate running dangerously high, Dogma threw on his blacks and armour and internally cursed Spark with every fiber of his being. The idiot had been in the fresher for the past half hour, and Dogma wasn’t going to be of any assistance this time. Let him suffer in his own stupidity. Captain Rex must have seen them leaving 79’s after all.

So focused on making it to the captain’s quarters in record time, he barreled over another trooper in the hallway as he rounded a corner. “What the- oh, Dogma.”

It was Tup. Aside from a very slight shadow under his eyes, he looked perfectly fine. Not at all like Spark, who looked closer to a recently deceased corpse than a clone trooper.

Dogma nodded to his batch-mate, “Spark will be meeting us at Captain Rex’s office.”

Tup watched him for a second, “Where did you disappear to last night? I was starting to think you’d died in that ‘fresher. Hardcase said you had a cramp or something?”

A _cramp_? Was that supposed to be a brilliant lie? Dogma cringed internally, he hadn’t thought that Tup would have been waiting for his return. He resumed his direction to the office, this time at a reasonable pace, and Tup moved to walk in time with him.

“I ran into Spark and he was wanting to go back to the barracks, so I went with him,” barely the truth. Tup knew it too.

“Why do you have to be like this? I wanted us to have a good time and you just _leave_ suddenly without warning, we were supposed to be celebrating making it through our first campaign!” Tup exclaimed, his gesturing becoming more exaggerated.

The frustration and anger Dogma had felt the previous evening was starting to bubble to the surface, and he glowered at Tup. “Right, because sitting there and being mocked by you and Fives and witnessing your embarrassing behaviour was such a blast.”

“It’s called having _fun_ , Dogma,” Tup hissed at him. “Something I know you’re incapable of, but I was hoping you could at least fucking pretend for a couple of hours.”

All the effort to reconnect with Tup was going straight down the drain, but at that moment, Dogma couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Clearly your idea of fun is making a fool out of yourself to impress Fives, so I hope all that effort was worth it,” he snapped, keeping his eyes up ahead as they made it through the maze-like hallways, getting closer to the captain’s office.

Tup scoffed, “I like Fives, so what? Unlike you, he actually cares for his brothers. You know what, _thank you_ for leaving early, the night was significantly better after you were gone.”

It hurt, and Dogma was glad they had reached the doors of Captain Rex’s office quarters, because there was nothing he could say in reply to that. Sending Tup one last glare, he pressed the button on the wall to signal they were waiting outside. There was a shuffling behind them and they both turned to see Spark arrive, his bucket concealing the evidence of last night’s bad decisions. The door opened and Dogma prayed that Spark wouldn’t start retching again.

They entered and stood to attention, Dogma and Tup with their buckets rested against their hips, and Captain Rex rose from his desk, discarding the datapad that was in his hands. Dogma mentally prepared himself for the reprimand that was coming, he’d send _both_ he and Spark to be assessed.

“At ease, men,” he said, and looked at Spark. “You can remove your helmet, trooper…?

Spark took of his bucket and Dogma winced as the heavy, dark bags under his eyes and pale face was revealed, “Spark, sir.” Captain Rex simply raised a brow at his rough voice and appearance but moved on without commenting.

“As we said before landing on Dantooine, we’ve only previously had two rookies straight from Kamino immediately recruited to Torrent Company. It’s a very rare achievement. Unfortunately, we’ve already lost one of you,” Captain Rex looked down sadly, and Dogma could hear Spark’s breathing stutter next to him. “My condolences. You’ve had a tough start to the war, but you’ve handled it all exceptionally well.”

Dogma wasn’t so sure about that, but nevertheless he swelled with pride at the praise. Captain Rex moved to retrieve something from behind his desk, and Dogma recognised it as a bucket of blue paint.

“You three have earned your stripes, now you can paint them how you choose,” he smiled softly, and Dogma couldn’t help but beam in response. Captain Rex handed the bucket and some brushes to Tup and nodded, “Dismissed.”

Buzzing with excitement, the three of them hurried back to their own quarters. Even Spark cracked a smile, the first one Dogma had seen since Tye died, snatching the bucket and a brush from Tup and immediately getting to work.

“Aren’t you going to plan what you’ll paint?” Tup asked him, his back purposely facing Dogma. Spark sat in the middle of the barracks, having ripped his armour off at record speed, and was starting to paint his chest-plate.

“I already know,” was his reply before he settled into a comfortable silence, frowning slightly in concentration. Not yet having an idea about what he would paint on his own armour, Dogma sent one last glare towards Tup before exiting the room and leaving the barracks.

Finding a comfortable spot on a bench close enough to the entrance, he watched the troopers who left and entered the barracks and took closer notice of the details on their armour. Some had simple stripes, others had more artistic designs like symbols or swirled patterns. Those didn’t really appeal to him, he like uniformity and structure. In the end, the paint served the purpose of recognising troopers in battle or when they were in full armour, similar to how many chose to have a distinctive hairstyle or tattoo. It was about individuality and standing out, and that had never been a priority of Dogma’s.

Tup’s words from earlier returned to his mind, and Dogma felt the creeping feeling of shame claw at his skin. He was a trooper, a brother, but he knew that he would never be completely welcome. Not like Tup had been. It was a painful realisation, his chest aching and throat constricting, but he supposed he better get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Tup's tear drop design being based off him crying after his first shot the lamest thing you've ever read? I don't care, it made me laugh when I thought of it and I couldn't then not include it lmao. My mans into that self-deprecating humour. Shots suck and I nearly cry every time I'm forced to do one. 
> 
> Also, I'm not really into extensive tags for every story beat because I feel like it spoils things, but should I add one for 'alcoholism'? I'm not well versed in ao3 etiquette.


	5. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogma finds that loneliness is not nearly as relaxing as he had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter, in-between kind of chapter.

Dogma eventually settled on a block triangular design for his armour. It was individual enough that no other trooper also wore it, but nothing so outrageous that it made him stand out in the crowd. Others, it seemed, had different ideas.

He had nearly stumbled in surprise when he’d first spotted Tup in the main mess hall later that day, the teardrops on his armoured shoulders and under the eye of the bucket attached to his hip standing out even from over twenty meters away. Mouth moving wordlessly, he had stood there in shock for a few seconds before he was kindly reminded to keep the line moving.

Keeping his head down and mouth shut, he collected his food and sat at an empty table in the corner of the room, far away from his batchmate. It was worse than ever between he and Tup, and from his vantage point in the corner he could see that he was the center of attention with the Torrent troopers at their table. Fives was holding Tup’s bucket in his hands, practically vibrating with laughter as Tup grinned at him.

That burning feeling returned, and Dogma had to force himself to look down at his food. It wasn’t much, mostly nutrient dense square portions and some unidentified leafy greens, but it was better than the mush on Dantooine and the food they’d been given every day on Kamino.

No one paid him any mind, despite the oddity of a trooper sitting by themselves, and Dogma was glad for the brief anonymity his newly painted armour had provided. To anyone, even Tup right now, he was just a regular 501st trooper preferring the serenity of his own company, rather than a lonely recent rookie who had just been in a horrible argument with his only friend. Were they even friends anymore? How many times could you get into arguments with your friend before they just become an acquaintance? Dogma didn’t know. As thrilling as painting his armour had been, it hurt that such a significant moment in his short life was spent alone, but he knew he was at least partly to blame.

At least he wouldn’t be called ‘shinie’ anymore. That was a positive.

He stared at his food, still holding his fork in one hand. Every particularly loud shout or cheer from the offending table was another hit to his appetite, and he briefly wondered if he could just bring his tray back to the barracks before he scolded himself for his stupidity. That wasn’t allowed. Thankfully, Tup and the group consisting of Fives, Jesse, Hardcase and Kix quickly finished their meals and left the mess hall, leaving him to wallow in relative peace.

Or so he thought.

Finally feeling relaxed enough to start eating, he choked on a portion when a trooper slid into the seat opposite him.

“Dogma?” Hardcase waited patiently as Dogma violently coughed a few times, glaring at him in great offense.

“How,” he rasped finally. “How did you know it was me?”

Hardcase shrugged and placed his bucket on the white table, “Process of elimination.” Dogma winced when he realised this was a kind way of saying that he’d be the only clone sitting by himself. “Nice armour,” Hardcase beamed at him, and Dogma’s mouth twitched in spite of himself.

“Thank you,” he replied curtly. His hope that if Hardcase insisted on sitting with him, he could at least let Dogma eat in peace and quiet was unreasonable, but he was frustrated all the same when he immediately started talking.

“So, did you ditch last night because you were still tired? Or did you find someone to leave with?” he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Frowning in confusion, Dogma’s face heated all the way to the tips of his ears when the provocative remark registered.

“What? _No_.”

Hardcase laughed and swiped a leafy green from his tray, “Just wondering.”

Dogma kept his eyes on his food, face still warm with embarrassment. He should tell someone what had happened. Spark wasn’t right, and his behaviour was self-destructive. With a sinking feeling, Dogma realised he probably should have let him be seen by Captain Rex last night and assessed mentally by medics. It was too late now. But… he looked up at Hardcase, who had pinched another piece of his food and was looking around the room.

Hardcase wasn’t a superior officer, if he told him his concerns it wouldn’t be like reporting Spark for misconduct. It would just be talk between troopers. Between brothers. And besides, he supposed he did owe Hardcase an explanation for his disappearance, as he had given an admittedly weak excuse for him. _Cramp_. Ridiculous. He’d never gotten a cramp in his life.

“Actually…” he started hesitantly, and Hardcase’s eyes widened and he leaned in eagerly.

“I _knew_ it!”

“Stop it,” Dogma hissed, seeing other troopers had glanced over at Hardcase’s exclamation. “I did go to the ‘fresher last night, but Spark was in there. He was… really drunk. Couldn’t even walk. I helped him back to the barracks, that’s why I left.”

Learning back again, Hardcase grinned. “I knew one of you shinies was gonna go hard.”

“No, it wasn’t…” Dogma couldn’t find the right words to describe it. “He’s really sad. His batchmate, Tye, died on Dantooine and he’s taking it badly. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

Hardcase slipped into a thoughtful expression, tapping his fingers on his bucket. “You’re worried about him?”

Dogma screwed up his nose at the idea, but eventually nodded. He _was_ worried about Spark, no matter how much he disliked him. It was disturbing to see a brother so visibly distraught.

“Well, sometimes there are some losses that just hit us harder,” Hardcase explained, more serious than Dogma had ever seen him. “Fives was also really upset for a while after Echo died. He probably just needed to get it out of his system, and unfortunately you had to see it. He’ll be able to move on soon, just give him some time to deal with it.”

Dogma believed him, but there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that told him that Spark would never get over it, that he’d never move on.

Pondering his words, he frowned at Hardcase. “Why did you come sit with me?” It had been a niggling thought for the past couple of days; Hardcase had invited him to play sabacc, had offered to teach him how to cheat, had lied to the other troopers about why he’d left 79’s. Why?

“You looked sad sitting all by yourself,” he replied simply, and Dogma immediately bristled in offense. It didn’t matter how true it was, he’d never responded well to direct implications of his loneliness.

“I wasn’t _sad_ ,” he hissed, lip curling. “I was just hoping to eat in peace. Besides, I don’t need your… your _pity_.”

“Okay,” Hardcase said slowly, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m just looking out for you, Dogma. It’s what brothers do.”

“Well I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Dogma sniffed, looking down at his food. “I can look after myself. Your concern is unneeded. And unwanted.”

Hardcase raised a brow, and Dogma was growing increasingly frustrated with how unaffected he was. Tup would have deservedly snapped at him by now. “What, like your concern for Spark? Is that unneeded?”

“That is completely different,” Dogma pointed his fork at him. “Spark is _unstable_.”

Hardcase looked at the offending utensil and then back at Dogma, nonplussed. But again, Dogma saw that flicker of pity pass his face, and his blood boiled. He stabbed into a portion, blocking the presence of Hardcase out. It was bad enough that Tup wouldn’t even look at him anymore, now he had this idiot bothering him with his pseudo-compassion. _Pathetic_. Dogma was pathetic.

“Anyway,” Hardcase interrupted his thoughts. “Some of the guys were planning to go to 79’s again tonight, you wanna come?”

_I’d rather stick pins in my eyes_ , Dogma thought to himself. His thoughts must have been evident in his expression, because Hardcase smiled at him.

“Just asking. Alright, I’ll leave you to your food.”

Watching him get up and leave, Dogma felt an unsettling guilt curl in his stomach. Hardcase had showed him nothing but kindness since he joined Torrent, although he found his boisterous attitude annoying and somewhat exhausting, and he’d been nothing but rude and unfriendly towards him in return. Leaning his cheek on his palm, Dogma closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of brothers laughing and chatting around him, enjoying spending time in each other’s company.

_Why can’t I be like them? Why do I always push people away?_

Even when he was a young cadet, he was the same. Although, Dogma conceded, eyes still closed, he wasn’t as mean back then as he was now. It took Tup regularly pushing past his prickly exterior for Dogma to consider him a friend, but now he wondered why Tup had even bothered.

Opening his eyes, he glanced down at his food for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. If he were being honest, most of the food that was missing had been eaten by Hardcase, and with his appetite extraordinarily low, he didn’t feel like consuming the rest of it. But… it was his duty as a soldier to maintain his energy levels and remain in a healthy condition. He choked down the rest of his meal at a reasonable pace.

After returning his tray, Dogma slowly made his way back to the barracks. He felt tired. The buzz he’d gotten painting his armour had mostly faded, the sense of pride still remaining, and all he really wanted to do was relax. Just before reaching the room, a worn looking trooper passed him, his face more grey than brown.

It was Spark, still looking worse for wear.

He’d apparently not recognised Dogma, or wasn’t really aware of his surroundings at all, and Dogma watched him until he disappeared behind a corner. Spark had painted a large blue ‘T’ on each shoulder plate, clearly in remembrance and honour of Tye, and a cascading flood of blue down the chest and back plates. As if he had simply just poured the paint on it and let fall how it pleased. What that signified, Dogma didn’t know.

Taking one last look at where Spark had gone, he entered the bunkroom. The spacing on Coruscant was significantly better than the main berthings on the cruiser, the thirty bunks per room providing some much-needed breathing space. He made his way to his designated locker in the corner of the room, entering his CT number and stripping off his armour. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t want to keep his newly painted armour on for as long as possible, but it wasn’t exactly of the highest comfort if he wanted to truly relax.

Dogma discreetly glanced around the bunkroom. There was a couple of troopers asleep and others reading on datapads, but none were paying him any mind. He quickly stripped off his blacks and rustled around in his locker for his fatigues, a page of flimsy falling to the ground as he hurried.

Nudity was an unavoidable part of growing up on Kamino surrounded by brothers who shared the same body, but he had never been completely comfortable with the vulnerability of it. Especially around troopers he didn’t know. Once he was fully dressed in his fatigues, he carefully folded his blacks and stacked his armour neatly inside the locker.

The flimsy seemed to mock him from its position on the floor. Dogma never broke the rules, he always followed procedure and protocol to perfection, even when it was hard. But that stupid flimsy felt like a black mark to his name. It was against the regulations for clone troopers to keep items that were considered in any way personal and not essential for war, which the flimsy clearly was, and he could be reconditioned for displaying such behaviour. And yet, for some unknown reason, he couldn’t force himself to get rid of it.

He reached down and chucked it on top of his folded clothes, the ‘YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CHEAT’ catching his eye before he closed the locker with restrained force.

Settling on his top bunk, Dogma looked through the datapad he had swiped from an empty bunk. There was an array of videos and books, information about everything he could think of, and he was excited for the freedom of choice for what he could look at and read. This was infinitely more enjoyable than 79’s. Blushing, he saw that the previous trooper that had used the datapad had just finished reading what was described as a romance novel called ‘Eternity’. Curiosity got the better of him and he leaned back against the headboard and began to read.

He had gotten through fifty pages of ridiculous prose and longing looks when Tup and Jesse entered the room, followed closely by Hardcase. Dogma stared at the word ‘alluring’ with much more intensity than it deserved as the three of them headed for the lockers, jostling happily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them put their buckets inside, but they did not change out of their armour.

“Change your mind, Dogma?” Hardcase asked, making him jump. Dogma looked up to see him smiling pleasantly by the lockers, Dogma’s earlier rudeness seemingly forgiven or forgotten, and Jesse watching him expectantly. Tup did not look in his direction.

“Erm, no thank you,” Dogma replied, and raised the datapad. “I’m just going to read.”

He thanked whatever god was looking after him that they did not ask specifically what he was reading. Jesse shrugged and Hardcase sent him an ‘alright, see ya’ before they left the room, Tup following silently. Dogma watched him leave, a tightness constricting in his chest. He’d really gone and done it, hadn’t he? He’d finally pushed Tup too far. He had thought it would be a relief to finally properly relax for one of the first times in his life, but he only felt an emptiness in his core.

Glancing back down at his datapad, the words on the screen blurred and Dogma breathed deeply to control his emotions. It wasn’t Dogma and Tup anymore. That friendship felt finished. It was just Dogma now, and it was lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I underestimated how hard writing a slow burn would be, so much goddamn self control is required and idk if I have it lmao.


	6. Flimsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Please be aware of the tags, I don’t want people being unnecessarily disappointed. This story is largely about friendship and acceptance.

Dogma spent that evening and most of the next day in his own company. It was the most time to himself that he’d ever had in his life, which in theory sounded like the greatest concept ever, but it had only sunken his mood further. The novel, ‘Eternity’, had been the only thing that was giving him any feeling other than morose loneliness.

It was a ridiculous and unbelievable story, with the two main characters, Twi’leks named Seela and Cotan, perfect pictures of beauty and sophistication in their salacious love-affair. But Dogma had found himself thoroughly captivated by it, reading over 200 pages in the past 24 standard hours. More often than not, he would sink down into the mattress in burning second-hand embarrassment, hiding his reactions from his bunkmates.

It was the second full day of their time off on Coruscant, two more to go, and he’d barely seen Tup. He’d kept an eye out for that godawful tear-drop design, but it was nowhere to be seen, not even during mealtimes. Although, they weren’t told to eat at specific times so this may not have been a key detail. The two had not spoken since their argument, but this was the longest Dogma had gone without seeing him in years, and he couldn’t help being concerned.

Beginning to think he should check the med-bay, just in case Tup had gotten up to some late-night drunken shenanigans and fallen off a speeder or something equally stupid, he marched out of the barracks, holding his bucket to his hip, and nearly collided with the trooper entering.

“Easy, trooper,” a hand patted his shoulder. Dogma saw the double pauldrons and the temple tattoo and had to bite back a scowl. It was Fives.

He cleared his throat and straightened respectfully, “Sorry sir, I’m looking for Tup if you’ve seen him.”

“Oh, Dogma. I didn’t recognise you, sorry. Tup’s just getting a tattoo.”

Dogma blinked in surprise. A _tattoo_? Of what?

Fives grinned toothily at him, and Dogma couldn’t but seethe internally. “Yeah, it’s fucking hilarious. The 212th just landed a couple hours ago and Needle’s the best in the business, maybe a little too good. I’ve got a meeting with Rex, but Tup should be done about now if you wanna go see him. They’re in Ghost’s barracks.”

No, he didn’t want to go see him. Knowing that Tup wasn’t passed out in a dumpster or injured was good enough for him, and he had a sneaking suspicion as to what his ‘fucking hilarious’ tattoo was going to be. More importantly, a clone trooper personally keeping and administering tattoo gear was against regulations, and he wasn’t about to get involved in that.

“It’s fine, sir,” Dogma replied stiffly. The other troopers had asked him not to call them ‘sir’, but Fives was an ARC trooper and that demanded more respect. “I’ll… I’ll talk to him later.”

He wouldn’t, but that wasn’t Fives’ business.

“Alright then, later Dogma,” Fives nodded at him and continued on his way to the captain’s office quarters. Dogma watched his retreating form with annoyance, Fives had a natural air of confidence about him that he could only dream of. Perhaps the status of ARC trooper gave that to him, but the vindictive side of Dogma concluded that Fives was simply decanted as an arrogant dickhead.

Another trooper entered the barracks and Dogma quickly moved out of the way of the door, shuffling from one foot to the other when it closed again. He didn’t like the lack of purpose that ‘free time’ offered, wondering about Tup’s location had at least given him something different to think about other than his reading. Reaching up to pull a hand through his hair, he realised that it was getting close to reaching the regulation length limit.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Hair occupied his thoughts for the next half hour as he shaved it to a much shorter length in the relatively empty ‘fresher. It was around the standard time that troopers ate dinner and he was glad for the privacy that eating earlier gave him, both during and after the meal. Unfortunately, another familiar trooper had the same idea as him and Dogma had to listen to the sound of running water and quiet sobs as Spark showered at the other end of the ‘fresher.

Dogma reminded himself of Hardcase’s words, that some deaths just hurt more than others and that Spark needed time to himself before he moved on, but it was hard to remember that when the muffled sounds he was hearing were so heart-wrenching.

Moving quickly, Dogma also gave his face a quick shave, keeping his eyes on his own reflection and not letting them drift to the hopeless form in the corner. If he couldn’t help Spark, he didn’t want to have to see his pain. Selfish, but necessary. He gathered the essential items in his arms and hurried out of the ‘fresher as soon as he was finished, the guilt eating away at him as he placed them neatly in his locker.

Closing it with a sigh, he saw Hardcase and Jesse sitting on a lower bunk, not appearing to have noticed him yet in their excited gesturing. Dogma eyed his own bunk and then the exit. He could slip out without them noticing, but Seela had just found a suspicious item of clothing in Cotan’s house and Dogma wanted to know what happened next. Sighing in resignation, he strode past Hardcase and Jesse to his bunk, knowing that Hardcase would likely recognise his armour design.

“Oh, hey Dogma,” he heard Hardcase say cheerfully, and Dogma turned to nod at them before climbing up onto his bunk. “We’re going to 79’s _again_ tonight, you wanna come?”

Dogma reached for the datapad, “No thank you, I’m just going to do some more reading.”

Jesse rolled his eyes but Hardcase remained patient, his eyes shining with excitement. “Oh, okay. The thing is that Ghost Company are planetside with us for the first time in ages, so it’ll be a lot of fun. Last time we went, Longshot and Fives nearly set fire to the building. It was hilarious.”

Snickering at the memory, Jesse elbowed Hardcase, “Didn’t you hear? He’d rather _read_.” There was no mistaking the mocking tone in his voice and Dogma felt himself sink lower into the thin mattress.

“Well, reading can be very interesting,” Hardcase replied. “That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.”

The two continued their previous conversation, which Dogma learned was about their plans for tonight, and largely ignored his presence. Dogma returned to his novel and kept his head down when they both eventually left, only nodding in acknowledgement to Hardcase’s ‘see ya’.

The story kept his mind pre-occupied for a while, but it was impossible not to notice that the bunkroom was emptier than he’d ever seen it. Ghost Company must be popular. There was only one other trooper besides him, fast asleep and snoring so loud Dogma thought that he must have been faking it. The loneliness seeped into his bones with a cold and unrelenting urgency, and he felt like beating himself over the head with the datapad.

This was completely self-inflicted.

He had insulted Tup, so he’d left him. Replaced him with someone better. Hardcase was trying to include him, but he kept pushing him away. Eventually, he’d give up too. Dogma needed to break this cycle; it wasn’t against regulations to have a _friend_ , so why did he treat it like it was?

With renewed determination, Dogma put down the datapad and changed into his fatigues. He would rest, and tomorrow he would make things right.

* * *

To his complete surprise, it was much easier to declare that things were going to change in the comfort of one’s bunk than it was to actually act on it the next day.

He had watched Tup, Fives, Jesse, Kix and Hardcase laugh hysterically over lunch in the mess hall the next day. From his corner table, he could tell by their glee, exaggerated hand gestures and occasional table slaps that the previous night at 79’s had been as fun as Hardcase was expecting. Feeling flat, Dogma hurried out once he’d finished inhaling his food to avoid speaking to them. It wasn’t _all_ of them he wanted to speak to anyway.

Just one.

When he thought about his time as a cadet and his friendship with Tup, he realised with dejection that it was his batchmate who had made all the effort. Tup had always come and sat with him in the mess, Tup had always chosen him as a partner for simulations, Tup had encouraged him to speak about his concerns for the future when he had been afraid to. When did he ever go out of his comfort zone and make an effort for _him_? And now it was too late. Tup hated him.

It was nearing the afternoon. Only one more day remained before they left for another campaign, a campaign that Dogma could very well die on. That any of them could die on. He stared into his locker, the folded page of flimsy sitting on top of his fatigues seemingly taunting him for his indecision.

The despairing loneliness was eating him up more and more each day. Only a few weeks ago, jealousy had been a new feeling to him. Now, it seemed that jealously and the accompanying anger was constantly simmering beneath the surface, along with a deep sadness, springing to life whenever he saw Fives. Dogma sensed that the longer he let these feelings fester, the harder it would be to change and the more hateful he would become. If he truly wanted to rid himself of this burden, _he_ needed to make the effort. Like Tup had done for him.

With a frustrated growl, he snatched up the flimsy and closed the door of his locker with moderate force.

Finding Hardcase was significantly more challenging than he had first thought. After half an hour of looking in and around the barracks, Dogma was ready to give up.

 _Well, I tried_ , he thought, satisfied that he had at least made an effort to fix his problems. That was probably the most important step, right? It was in the middle of his internal self-congratulations that Dogma saw the lone figure in the common area courtyard, around 100 meters from the Torrent barracks.

He whipped his head forward and pretended he didn’t see, his bucket hiding his startled expression and his hand crinkling around the flimsy. _Wait, I’m not ready now!_ Realising he was starting to look ridiculous standing completely still in the middle of the walkway, Dogma stumbled into the courtyard.

Hardcase was sitting on a concrete ledge by himself, his bucket resting beside him, methodically cleaning his rotary cannon. Dogma looked around, expecting to see at least Fives or Jesse about, likely laughing obnoxiously about nothing in particular, but there was no sign of them.

The flimsy felt like it was burning a hole into his hand.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Dogma took off his bucket and held it to his hip. He straightened his back and marched towards Hardcase’s seated form, his resolve cracking with each step. Hardcase didn’t look up from his cleaning, not noticing he had an audience. Dogma watched him and the care he was taking with his weapon for a second, before clearing his throat.

Hardcase jumped and put a hand over his chest. “ _Gods_ ,” he muttered and looked up at Dogma, blinking in surprise when he recognised him. “Oh, hey Dogma. How’s things? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Dogma coughed awkwardly, “Sorry.” The silence stretched and he shuffled from one foot to the other, not able to spit it out. Hardcase watched him with growing confusion, and Dogma could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“So,” Hardcase said slowly, breaking the painfully awkward silence and gently placing his rotary cannon on the ledge next to him. “What can I do for you? Oh, I know what this is. You want a tattoo as well. It’s no problem, I’ll take you to Needle-”

Dogma spluttered indignantly, horrified by the suggestion. “ _No_ , that’s not…” he trailed off.

“Then what is it? Is everything okay?”

Dogma found it easier to speak to the rotary cannon, the fear of rejection making his heart pound nervously. “I was hoping to cash in a favour.”

“A favour?”

Sighing in defeat, Dogma held out the folded, crumpled flimsy, watching his expression carefully for a reaction. Hardcase, confusion painting his features, took the flimsy and opened it. His face immediately lit up in delight.

“Dogma, you idiot! Of course I’ll help you,” he laughed and Dogma yelped when Hardcase threw his arm around him, yanking him down to his sitting position. “Gods, I thought someone had died or something. You looked damn terrified!”

Dogma untangled himself from Hardcase’s arm and shrugged awkwardly, but internally he felt a tiny glow of happiness at the easy acceptance.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” Hardcase grinned and Dogma looked away, embarrassed by his attachment to the stupid flimsy. “Well, I have some _super illegal_ contraband in my locker, so let’s go!”

He stood up and lifted rotary cannon with little effort, and Dogma felt immediately guilty.

“It’s alright, I can wait until you’re finished.”

Hardcase snorted, “Nah, I’ve been here over an hour. It’s more of a relaxation thing,” he paused and looked at Dogma in growing comprehension. “Kind of like your reading, right?”

“I guess,” Dogma replied, thankful that Hardcase didn’t know exactly _what_ he was reading. Seeing Hardcase’s hands were relatively full, he reached forward to pick up the cleaning oil supplies and held back a wince at the slimy texture that had slipped outside the containers. He had never liked mechanics for this specific reason.

“Oh, thanks,” Hardcase said.

They made their way back to the barracks, the Coruscant civilians passing passing them without a second glance. The different species were fascinating to Dogma, having only ever really seen humans, Kaminoans and Togrutas, and he had to constantly remind himself not to stare at them as they walked. Hardcase was a good distraction, and Dogma swore he could feel a burden starting to lift from his shoulders the more he talked.

And boy did he talk.

“-Totally get why you didn’t come to 79’s last night, it was fun, but a certain type of fun. Especially since Ghost were there. It’s not the kind of fun that’s for everyone. I reckon since Commander Cody keeps them all on such a tight leash on campaigns, they go proper insane when they have time off. I’ve seen things I cannot unsee. I’m telling you Dogma, I’ve been _traumatised_.”

Lips twitching with amusement, Dogma felt vindicated in his decision not to go.

“Alright,” Hardcase said when they had reached the lockers in their bunkroom after making a stop at the weapons room. He entered his CT number and took the cleaning items from Dogma’s hands, wrapping them in a cloth and placing them carefully at the back of the locker. For some reason, Dogma had been expecting a total mess of clothes and personal items, but it was as neat as his own. He squawked in surprise when a tattered rag was chucked back at his head.

“For your hands,” Hardcase explained, and Dogma was immediately grateful to be rid of the slimy oil. He wiped his hands clean and handed the rag back to Hardcase, who did the same. Lifting up his folded civvies and fatigues, Hardcase retrieved the sabacc cards and waved them dramatically at Dogma before closing his locker.

“You ready to break the law?” he grinned, but Dogma found he didn’t mind the teasing. It was a lot better than the mocking tone from the others.

Hardcase set out the cards on his bed, the flimsy resting open between them as they sat on the bunk. Glancing at the ‘YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CHEAT’ rule, Dogma told himself that if this was how everyone played the game, then it kind of technically was an unofficial rule. If he didn’t want to be a complete loner, he’d have to accept that.

“Do you cheat every time you play sabacc?” Dogma asked as Hardcase shuffled the cards.

“Nah,” he replied. “Sometimes I feel like being noble, you know?”

Dogma just rolled his eyes.

Hardcase began his lesson, and Dogma soon learned that there were in fact many ways to cheat at sabacc, all of them equally as infuriating as the next. But he held in his temper and listened to Hardcase’s detailed explanations. For someone with seemingly boundless energy, he was remarkably patient.

“And Jesse, that shithead,” Hardcase continued, demonstrating with the cards. “I’m _sure_ he somehow knows what cards I have, like he’s memorised them all somehow. It’s fucking _infuriating_. I’d love to show you, but I don’t even know how he does it. Kix does though, and he won’t spill.”

Dogma frowned at the cards in his hand, completely immersed in their conversation. Even his armour digging uncomfortably into his thighs as he sat opposite Hardcase was barely a distraction. “But how would that be possible? To know other people’s cards without directly looking?”

“Perhaps Jesse can read minds…” Hardcase trailed off, lost in thought. Dogma sent him a flat look, and was about to express his doubt with that conclusion when the barracks door slid open, voices leaking in.

He and Hardcase looked up at the intrusion, and Dogma wasted no time in immediately staring back at his cards when he recognised the pair. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to avoid seeing the new tattoo that settled under Tup’s right eye.

“Oh, Hardcase,” Kix called from the lockers. Dogma kept his eyes intently on his own lap. “Jesse’s been looking for you. You coming to grab some dinner now? I’ve heard they’ve got some dessert going tonight, Cody probably wrangled it out of them.”

“Woah, really? Tell Cody I love him. I’ll meet you guys in there.”

“I will. See ya Hardcase, Dogma.”

Dogma heard the lockers close and the door swish open and closed, letting out a quiet breath when he knew they were gone. Ready to continue the lesson, he looked up to see Hardcase watching him curiously. Dogma coughed to hide his growing discomfort.

“So, what was the next method?”

Hardcase simply raised his hand. “Hold on, what was that just now? You and Tup couldn’t even look at each other.”

Dogma shifted uncomfortably on the bunk. While he truly did appreciate the effort that Hardcase had made, the issues he was having with Tup were his own problem. His own failures. And he didn’t want Hardcase knowing how awful he really was.

“We’re just… in the middle of an argument,” he said, remaining vague.

Hardcase hummed to himself. “Well, you guys are batchmates, right?” he asked, and Dogma nodded in affirmation. “Batchmates _always_ fight the most, trust me. I don’t think I’ve punched anyone as much as I punched mine, but it’s because they know you the best. They know how to push your buttons.”

“Is Jesse one of your batchmates?”

“No, no,” Hardcase shook his head, smiling sadly. “They died a long time ago. Our first few campaigns were rough.”

Dogma looked back down at his hands, mumbling a sad ‘sorry’. He felt awful.

“Don’t sweat it, Dogma,” Hardcase brought his attention back to him. “These things happen. Anyway, I’m sure you and Tup will sort it out.”

“I’ve said some… terrible things though,” Dogma whispered, but it felt hollow after hearing that Hardcases batchmates were all _dead_. Hardcase would definitely prefer that they were all alive and hated him, rather than them not being around at all.

Hardcase smiled, “Doesn’t make you brothers any less.”

They sat in a comfortable silence as Dogma processed their conversation. Hardcase repeatedly shuffled the sabacc cards in his hands, unable to sit still but seemingly happy to wait for Dogma to sort himself out. He knew Hardcase had the best intentions with his advice, but it was becoming clear to Dogma that he and Tup simply weren’t compatible as friends. They just made each other too mad.

Sighing, Dogma handed the cards back to Hardcase, “I suppose you want to go eat?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hardcase took the cards and grinned at him. “Gods, I’m fucking _starved_. You gonna come sit with us this time?”

Dogma shrugged. He didn’t exactly _want_ to, but now that he was specifically asked, he couldn’t really say ‘no’. Not when he felt like he owed Hardcase for his kindness. “I… I guess,” he replied.

Clasping his shoulder briefly, Hardcase quickly swept up the cards and headed back to the lockers. Dogma watched for a second before his eyes landed back on the flimsy still resting on the bunk; it was such an innocuous item, crumpled and lined with scrawled handwriting, and yet he felt a slight flutter in his chest when he looked at it. To Dogma, it symbolised an effort of friendship that had required an effort from him in return, and he had finally been up to the task, if only just this once.

Making sure Hardcase was still preoccupied with his locker, Dogma swiped the flimsy and slipped it up the sleeve of his blacks, the evidence hidden by his armour.

When they made it to the mess hall, Hardcase immediately made a beeline for the food. With members of both Ghost and Torrent present, as well as other 501st units, there were more troopers in the mess than Dogma had ever seen. And, in addition to the portions and greens, each trooper had a tiny fluffy cube on their tray. Dogma eyed his own in trepidation as he followed Hardcase to Torrent’s usual table.

To his annoyance, Hardcase announced his presence by dumping his tray down beside Jesse, who jumped in surprise. “Alright, where’s the dear Marshal Commander?”

Dogma slid in quietly next to him, making brief eye contact with Tup opposite him before his batchmate looked away. Dogma eyed the tear-drop tattoo with mild disgust before looking down at his own tray.

“Whatcha talking about, Hardcase?” Fives asked, chewing on a portion. Hardcase had caught the curiosity of their end of the table, and Dogma groaned internally at the attention in their direction.

“What. Is. _This_?!” Hardcase pointed dramatically to the tiny cube. “This couldn’t even feed an _insect_. Last time they were at least five times the size.”

Hardcase collapsed into his seat and Jesse patted his back comfortingly, clearly amused. Ignoring them, Dogma started on his portions, deciding to leave the strange fluffy square until last.

“You’re lucky we’re getting anything at all,” Kix replied, his gaze briefly drifting to Dogma before returning to Hardcase’s despairing form. “I heard some whispers that the GAR’s costing more money than the Republic can handle.”

“What, so they’re just going to stop feeding us now?” Fives asked, his voice hardening.

“They need us to fight their war, they won’t stop giving us food,” Jesse replied, removing his hand from Hardcase’s back.

Fives just scoffed, “Yeah, they’ll just start giving us dirt instead. It’s bullshit. They’re spending tonnes of credits of things that aren’t essential, surely they can cut down on couple of their own luxuries before they start cutting our _food_.”

Dogma watched the exchange in abject horror. _Their_ war? Questioning the Republic who they were sworn and created to protect?

“The Republic wouldn’t just… just let us _starve_ or eat _dirt_ ,” Dogma interjected passionately, setting down his fork. “That’s ridiculous. Of course they care about our wellbeing.”

Dogma refused to wilt under Fives’ hard stare, the other troopers watching and listening with bated breath. “You haven’t been in this fight long enough, Dogma, they would walk on our dead bodies if it meant an end to this war.”

“ _Fives_ ,” Kix hissed, sneaking a look around the loud mess hall to see if anyone unwanted heard. “You can’t be talking like that.”

“Sorry Kix,” Fives muttered and returned to his food, effectively ending the arguement. Glancing across the table at Tup, Dogma saw the similar hard features pinched on his face and knew that his batchmate was in agreement with Fives. He looked away, an ache filling his chest.

“So,” Jesse drawled, nudging Hardcase. “You coming to 79’s tonight?”

Hardcase was still poking his cube unhappily. “Considering I’m still recovering from the trauma from last night? Nah.”

Snorting, Jesse turned to the others. “You guys keen?” Indistinct muttering was his only response, and Jesse shook his head in disappointment. “Wow, you lot are fun.”

“I’m fucking _tired_ ,” Fives replied. “I need sleep. Plus, Rex told me we’re headed to Thyferra next, and that place sucks.”

They all groaned at that, but Dogma and Tup stayed quiet, confused by the reaction. All Dogma knew about Thyferra was that it was where most of the galaxy’s bacta was produced, which didn’t sound like too bad of a place to go during a war.

“I am going to just sit under the cold shower for like… ten hours in preparation,” Hardcase said.

Seeing he and Tup’s confusion, Fives explained, “Thyferra makes Felucia feel like a goddamn ice-bath, it’s possibly the worst place in the galaxy. Our armour is only thermoregulated to a point.”

Dogma sank lower in his chair at that, remembering the heavy, suffocating air during his very brief time on Felucia. Who knew how long _this_ campaign would go for, certainly not only fifteen minutes. And that was hard enough. Well… at least he knew his armour wasn’t faulty.

While the others were reminiscing about the last time they were on Thyferra, Dogma saw that Hardcase had also left his fluffy cube until last, breaking off miniscule pieces, barely more than a few crumbs, and seemingly savouring every bite. Looking back at his own tray, Dogma knew he’d already made up his mind.

_Make. An. Effort._

The unremarkable cube didn’t matter to him at all, but it obviously did matter to Hardcase.

Without warning, he lifted up the tiny cube with his fingers and placed it on Hardcase’s tray. Hardcase paused, blinking in surprise at the new addition. He whirled around to stare at Dogma for a couple of seconds, and before Dogma could protest, he picked the cube up and put it back on Dogma’s own tray.

“What-” Dogma started, shocked by the unexpected turn of events. “I don’t want it.”

“Don’t be silly, Dogma. You haven’t even tried it,” was Hardcase’s simple reply, returning to carefully cutting another tiny piece with his fork. Dogma watched him, thoroughly confused.

“It’s just food, and only a very small amount.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hardcase said. “I refuse to take cake from someone who’s never tried it before; it’s unethical.”

Dogma spluttered, “You’re not _taking_ it, I’m _giving_ it to you.”

“I appreciate the thought, it’s really nice of you, Dogma.” Hardcase glanced at him and Dogma felt his face heating in embarrassment at the praise. “But I refuse.”

“Okay,” he muttered, accepting defeat. But he felt a satisfied sense of happiness that his effort hadn’t gone unnoticed, that Hardcase _appreciated_ it and had told him so. Around them the chatter continued, and Dogma was grateful that no one appeared to have heard his embarrassing attempt at being nice.

Well, almost no one.

He broke off a piece of the cake, ignoring the frown on the face of the trooper opposite him. It was the first time that Tup had properly looked at him in days, but Dogma focused his attention on the curious sponge-like creation that had Hardcase so enamoured and placed it in his mouth. The taste was like nothing he’d ever tried before, and he almost spat the piece out in surprise. Blinking a couple of times to get ahold of his senses, he let the cake crumble on his tongue, the soft sweetness of it pleasantly overpowering. It made him feel… happy. Like a renewed energy was spreading through his body from within.

Turning, he realised that Hardcase had been watching him, a big grin on his face.

Dogma smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My shortest chapter so far followed by my longest chapter so far. Bit of an all over the place chapter, hope you guys don't mind lmao.


	7. Thyferra

As it turned out, their final day on Coruscant would not be one of rest and relaxation. That morning, after Dogma had woken from the best sleep he’d had in weeks, they had received orders that the 501st would be shipped out to Thyferra later that afternoon. Seela and Cotan would have to wait until he returned in a month or so, if he returned at all. Fives had grumbled that their 4 day layoff was ‘a lie’, considering it was basically only 3, and Dogma had felt a cold sense of dread wash over him.

This wasn’t just Torrent Company heading out on a campaign for a month or so, this was most of the 501st Legion; _hundreds_ of men. And that was a good indication that the Republic were expecting this battle to be heavy, as in, heavy _casualties_. On his first deployment to Dantooine, the only troopers he knew were Tup, Spark and Tye, and out of those three, one had already died. Now he knew so many more, and even liked… one of them, and the odds were that some of these men would die too.

It was _unfair_.

But… that was the life of a soldier. And as a soldier, he would do his duty.

Dogma, Jesse, Tup, Spark and Kix were all in the bunkroom that afternoon, either giving their armour a final buff and polish or cleaning out any junk in their lockers. Hardcase, true to his word, had been in the showers for an unspeakable amount of time, presumably with the water on ice-cold.

“You know what, I’m gonna make ARC trooper if it’s the last thing I do,” Jesse said, rubbing his knee. In the process of cleaning his lower body armour, he had whacked the joint painfully on the side of his bunk. “If not just for the luxuries. You know Fives gets to sleep in a room of _four_?”

“Woah, really?” Tup replied, astonished. He was seated a couple of bunks over from Dogma, tongue between his teeth as he buffed his bucket carefully. Dogma kept his eyes on his own gear and did his best to ignore them.

“Yeah, they don’t even have bunks, just regular beds.”

“Favouritism,” Kix indulged his friend, amused by his complaints. A locker slamming closed with more force than usual jolted Dogma from his concentration, and he looked up to see Spark stride past them in the direction of the ‘fresher. They all watched him leave in curious silence, but Dogma quickly looked back down at his lap. Spark had still not reverted back to his old self, and aside from Dogma overhearing his grief in the showers days prior, he had rarely seen or heard from him.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Jesse commented when the ‘fresher door closed behind Spark.

With a sobering realisation, Dogma remembered Tye’s dream of being an ARC trooper; meeting Fives would have been a high point in he and Spark’s short lives. Dogma glanced at Tup and with the brief eye contact he knew that Tup remembered too. Spark clearly wanted nothing to do with this conversation.

Jesse sighed, eyeing his armour. “Can someone drag that fool from the showers before he turns himself into an icicle? I would, but I… don’t want to. Kix, surely as the team medic it’s your responsibility to stop idiots from getting sick before a campaign?”

Kix sent Jesse a flat look, “Clones don’t get common colds, and the water’s not freezing enough to induce hypothermia. Get him yourself.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst medic in the GAR,” Jesse complained half-heartedly. He made eye contact with Dogma, who had been curiously watching their interaction, and smirked. “Hey, Dogma. Is there something in the regs about showering too long, and like, wasting water or something?”

Dogma glared at him for the obvious bait, hating that he was being made fun of. But… there _was_ something triggering his mind about water usage, and now that he’d remembered, he couldn’t just _unthink_ it. With a deep scowl, he gently placed his forearm guard and polish down and rose from the bunk. Fury prickling under his skin and refusing to be embarrassed, he marched towards the ‘fresher and ignored the cheerful ‘many thanks!’ sent to his back.

Once inside, he was greeted by a moderately full ‘fresher. Most of the men, including Spark, were at the mirrors, trimming their hair or beards. There was only one trooper in the showers section, sitting, which could _not_ be sanitary, and Dogma sighed in resignation. Hardcase had his eyes closed as he sat facing the wall, head bowed under the cold spray. Coughing awkwardly when he reached him, Dogma quickly averted his eyes. It was the same body as his own, only with a continuation of Hardcase’s lined tattoo down his back and a smattering of small scars as a reminder of the horrors of war, but Dogma still felt uncomfortable by the nudity.

Hardcase, on the other hand, was either in such a deep state of meditation that he did not hear his cough or was just simply ignoring him. Dogma reached over and turned off the water.

“Wha-” Hardcase stuttered, opening his eyes in surprise. He looked up at Dogma and pouted. “I _just_ moved past the shivering, Dogma. I was building up an immunity.”

“That does not sound healthy,” Dogma deadpanned, looking at a broken tile at the end of the ‘fresher. “You’ve been in here for way too long.”

Sighing dramatically, Hardcase got off the tiled floor and shamelessly stretched his limbs, roped muscles straining from the effort. Dogma focused on the tile with renewed intensity, face growing hot against his will. Embarrassed by his own embarrassment, he glared at Hardcase.

“Will you put on a damn _towel_ or something?” he hissed quietly.

Hardcase paused his stretches and blinked, “Oh, sorry.”

Realising with relief that his mission was achieved and he could leave, Dogma turned on his heel as Hardcase reached for a towel and walked out. The door slid closed behind him and Dogma took a second to let his embarrassment settle, waiting for a couple of beats and watching the other unaware troopers, before going over to his bunk and resuming his cleaning. Hardcase entered the room a minute later, towel around his waist, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oi guys, I think Flick is giving himself a mohawk,” he said, voice laced with excitement as he opened his locker.

“That’s a cry for help,” Kix muttered and Jesse and Tup laughed. Dogma kept his gaze on his forearm guard, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Hardcase take off his towel and fold it over the locker door. “Have a nice shower though, Hardcase? We were beginning to think you might have drowned.”

Hardcase slipped into his underclothes and blacks, “I’m thinking, when I’m cooking alive on that shitty planet, in my mind I will return to the serenity of the cool water hitting my face. That’s what jedi do, right?”

Jesse snorted, but Kix humoured him, “Right.”

“You’ve never been serene in your life, idiot.”

Once Hardcase was fully dressed in his armour, disappointingly unpolished, they were ready to collect their weapons and meet Captain Rex and the rest of the 501st at the main docking area. Following the others out the bunkroom, Dogma stilled in the doorway. He wasn’t a sentimental person by any means, in fact he was probably the furthest from it, but he couldn’t just ignore his own instincts. Alone, he hurried back to the lockers, entered his CT number and stashed the flimsy up the sleeve of his blacks.

He couldn’t help it; those stupid rules gave him comfort.

It was an embarrassing weakness, but no one had to know about it. And if no one knew, then was it really that big of a deal?

No, of course not.

Scurrying out of the bunkroom, he was surprised to find Hardcase waiting for him outside, the others long gone. The flimsy burned against his wrist and Dogma self-consciously clutched at the armour that concealed the evidence of his mortifying attachment.

“Alright, Dogma?” Hardcase asked, resting his bucket against his hip. Dogma just nodded silently in reply, afraid that if he opened his mouth Hardcase would somehow guess what he went back for. The two of them collected their weapons and made their way out the barracks before Hardcase turned to him again. “I’m sorry, you know, about before. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Dogma blinked in surprise. “Oh, no it’s fine,” he could feel his neck growing hot at the reminder, but he was confused by the apology. “You didn’t… it was just me being weird.” Which was true; everyone else seemed fine with shameless nudity, it seemed like it was only him who still wasn’t comfortable with it.

“Nah, I forget sometimes that just because we’re clones, not everyone is like me. Thanks for the reminder,” Hardcase grinned punched his shoulder good-naturedly. Dogma just stared at him, shocked.

They reached the docking area, filled with hundreds of troopers, and Dogma quickly pulled his bucket over his head and stood to attention. It was a sea of blue and white, so many troopers ready to do their duty, and he was overcome with the sobering realisation of how miniscule his contribution and existence truly was in the war effort. His life and impending death would mean nothing. These were classic Tup thoughts, this self-doubt and anxiety over an imminent battle, and Dogma hated himself for it.

Groups of troopers filed onto transport shuttles, and Dogma remained in perfect formation, still keeping an eye out for his chronically nervous batchmate. Tup was not in his immediate vicinity, so he refocused his concentration on the task at hand. Fives was likely with him, Tup would be fine.

* * *

Due to its production of bacta, Thyferra was one of the most important planets for the Republic in their war effort. This was one of the very rare times that the Separatists ventured within the inner rim during the war, such was the significance of the occupation and control of Thyferra. Due to the planet’s relatively close location, the travel time on the main cruiser was only a few hours.

For Dogma, this was not enough time.

The dire consequences for losing this campaign were enough to make anyone nervous, and you could almost feel the grim determination leaking through the armour of the troopers as the transports took them planetside. Well, all the troopers except for Hardcase, who Dogma could hear bouncing in excitement next to him, the rotary cannon occasionally jolting against his leg.

It was nighttime on Thyferra, and Dogma stared into the darkness through the open gunship doors, feeling the temperature get hotter and hotter the closer they got to the surface. Every time he thought the heat was too stifling, the temperature somehow increased again. It was a goddamn nightmare, but at least they weren’t leaping straight into a battle this time.

Clutching the ceiling cable, Dogma took in a deep breath and tried to force his body to adjust. The air was hot and sticky, sitting heavily in his lungs even when he released the breath again. _This fucking sucks_ , he thought to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Tup in the corner next to Fives, clutching his cable with two hands. He couldn’t look more nervous if he tried.

With a petty, spiteful pleasure, Dogma noted that _Fives_ was not offering him any kind of physical support or comfort. He wouldn’t have been aware of Tup’s regular pre-battle anxiety, likely because he hadn’t seen it before and Tup would never bring it up himself, but it didn’t stop a twisted satisfaction curling in Dogma’s gut. As soon as the satisfaction appeared however, Dogma felt a deep, humiliating sense of shame wash over him.

What kind of a brother was he?

Clearly, an awful one.

In that moment, Dogma had never been more glad for the privacy of his bucket; his shame was visible to no one but himself.

The gunship shuddered a couple of times and Dogma held his cable tighter. The plan was to strike a communications outpost the Separatists had recently taken control of, effectively cutting off detailed transmissions between their main cruisers and the planet, and then meet them on the battlefield tomorrow and overwhelm their forces in the following days or weeks. However long it took. It sounded relatively simple, but Dogma knew that with the amount of men brought along for this campaign, the Republic were preparing for some unexpected twists and turns.

“Alright, men,” a voice came over his helmet comms and Dogma somehow managed not to jump. “The outpost is around seven hundred meters away, and I want us to hit them with all we’ve got. Word from the scouts is that it’s not too heavily guarded, only a few tanks, but we need to get this done _tonight_.”

The familiar surge of duty and pride overtook him, and Dogma found himself standing straighter in response. With one last shudder the transport gunship landed in a clearing and the troopers marched out. Hardcase gave him a rough punch to the shoulder, letting out a short burst of laughter, and Dogma sent him an offended look concealed by his bucket. At least someone was excited.

His helmet comms stuttered again, “Rex here. Torrent, we’re up front with the General and Commander. Get a move on.”

Hurrying to where he could see General Skywalker, they passed other gunships and larger transports in the process of landing, troopers jumping out and gathering together as they obeyed the orders over their own comms. Captain Rex was barely fifty meters away at the edge of the clearing, but Dogma could already feel his heart hammering in his chest as his lungs worked overtime; the heat was _stifling_. He felt like he could barely breathe, let alone fight. The thought of his blacks soon being drenched in his own sweat made him shudder with disgust.

Trying to keep his breathing as quiet and even as possible, Dogma listened with rapt attention to General Skywalker, keeping an eye out on the thick, dark jungle behind him.

“We’ll have two teams attack them from either side, and we’ll attack them from the front. Ahsoka and I will draw a lot of their fire but be prepared to get dirty. Their weaponry doesn’t look too strong at this outpost, but don’t rely on that; the Separatists are always upgrading. Alright, let’s move out.”

The troopers all settled into a salute with a chorus of ‘sir, yes sir’s, and Dogma felt a flicker of happiness that came with being in a situation he had actually trained for.

War was terrible, but it was also familiar.

Sweat gathering at the back of his neck, Dogma settled into a steady pace behind the other troopers, clutching his blaster to his chest and weaving his way through the mess of branches, leaves and mud. He was not yet exhausted, but the heavy air was causing his breathing to become ragged and he hoped no one else could hear his wheezing. That was one advantage with droids, he supposed, they weren’t affected by the elements like living beings were.

Hardcase was still trotting alongside him, and Dogma glanced at the bulky rotary cannon with sympathy. _That_ was a heavy weapon, especially to be carrying around in this suffocating heat. Hesitantly, he reached out and carefully bumped Hardcase’s shoulder, like he so often did to Dogma. Although Hardcase did it with significantly more force.

Hardcase turned his head towards him, tilting it in curiosity. “You alright carrying that thing around in this climate?” Dogma asked over a closed comm channel, ducking under a branch. As per the regulations, it was not against protocol to speak privately over comms to another trooper _before_ the battle began, if the conversation was of importance to the campaign. Which it was, of course.

“Oh, I’m used to it,” Hardcase responded, and Dogma could hear the cheerful tone in his voice. “How much does this planet suck, though? Bet you’re regretting not joining me in the shower.”

Stumbling, he felt his face grow dangerously hot, but Hardcase continued on as if he hadn’t said something ridiculously suggestive. Dogma thanked every god he could think of that the comm channel was closed.

“Many say that carrying this bad boy around all the time makes me the strongest clone, and you know, who am I to argue with the masses?”

Dogma rolled his eyes and switched off the channel, both in annoyance and because they were less than one hundred meters from their destination. Crouching behind the troopers in front of him, which he realised by their armour were Jesse and Kix, they awaited Captain Rex’s signal. Thankfully, the shrubbery completely concealed them from view. The Separatists likely knew they had entered the atmosphere, but hopefully they thought the Republic were going to launch a full-scale attack, not immediately target one of their communications outposts.

Dogma held his breath in trepidation, keeping a keen eye on the jaig eyed bucket up ahead. Captain Rex raised his arm, and Dogma’s muscles tensed, ready for action. The hand flicked downwards and they all rose as one.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Breath rattling his in lungs, Dogma and the Torrent forces charged towards the tower as the sound of laser cannons echoed through the night. It was all a blur of blaster fire from then on, aim-and-shoot and hope for the fucking best. Even through the mounting chaos, Dogma could still hear the steady pound of the rotary cannon and an occasional whoop of joy.

The other 501st groups had hit the outpost from either side, and it was clear that the scouting reports had been correct; the droids army were unprepared and overwhelmed by their assault. He spied the General and Commander scaling the building, their sword-like weapons glowing brightly in the darkness, and prayed that they could end this battle quickly. Once the control tower was secured, the droids would fall soon after, and they would be one step closer to leaving this hellhole.

A bolt of energy whizzed past his ear, a few centimeters from frying his brain, and Dogma quickly shot down the offending droid as his heart jumped in his chest. _That was way too close_. It was a timely reminder to keep his full focus on the task at hand, and not to let his gaze drift to acrobatic jedi, no matter how impressive they were.

Eventually the battle died down and with great effort he could catch his breath, the droid army completely overwhelmed by their forces in under an hour. To his relief, the element of surprise had ensured that there were minimal casualties, and he spotted Kix and the other medics treating the wounded. Sucking in the heavy air, he made his way over to where Hardcase, Jesse and Tup were gathered.

“How’s the serenity, Hardcase?” Jesse whacked him on the shoulder and Hardcase grunted in reply. “Your mind trick working yet?”

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a jedi,” Hardcase responded, sounding out of breath. He waved when he spotted Dogma. “Honestly I think that shower has made it even worse; I can remember what being cold felt like, but I’ll never feel it again.”

Snorting, Jesse turned to nod at Dogma, “It’ll be worse in the daytime, don’t worry.”

His comms activated again, and Dogma listened closely. “Rex here. We’ve got full control of the tower, and we managed to jam their communications before they could send out a distress signal, so that will buy us a couple of extra hours. Rest up everyone,” he said and the comm clicked out.

_Rest up?_ Dogma thought with frustrated confusion. How on earth could anyone rest while they were being cooked alive in this furnace; he could _feel_ his blacks clinging uncomfortably to his chest and back, completely soaked though. He was exhausted, they hadn’t rested in nearly 24 hours, but there was no way he could sleep right now. Jesse, however, had already dropped down to the damp ground and leaned up against a twisted trunk, muttering quietly to himself.

Dogma frowned down at him, “Surely we can be of further assistance.”

Leaning the rotary cannon against another tree, Hardcase shrugged. “Nah, they’ve got other brothers for that. Rex will let us know if we’re needed.”

Tup remained silent, and Dogma wondered if he should ask his opinion over a private comm channel, but immediately thought better of it. Sighing, he sat up against a trunk next to Hardcase, ignoring the way the plastoid armour dug into his upper thighs. He desperately wanted to take off his bucket, at least to get some air movement on his face, but he knew that if the heat was sweltering now, it would be even worse without the protection of the internal filters. Instead, Dogma just suffered in silence, sweat dripping down his face as he watched hundreds of other troopers either entering the tower or resting outside.

There was no way he would sleep, but Dogma let his muscles relax and his breathing deepen. As Jesse had said; tomorrow would be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got all my story beats set out from here on out, and this was meant to just be a transition chapter before we hit another planned idea, but things just got away from me with this one lmao. It's much harder than I thought it would be to build Dogma's growing affection of Hardcase without just going BAM I love you now. As much as I desperately want to write some pining, these things take time. 
> 
> (ps. shoutout to my fellow aussies, there's a subtle reference in here for you <3 <3)


	8. Burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this chapter ended up being waaay longer than I had planned.

An hour, then two, ticked by. While running around and shooting down droids had been exhausting in the heat, just sitting and baking in it was somehow worse. Now, there was nothing else to focus on but the gathering of sweat on his skin and the gradual brightening of the sky overhead. Jesse and Hardcase had dozed off rather quickly, their lack of yapping giving them away, and Tup appeared to have followed soon after.

Occasionally, Dogma saw Kix hurry by, medpack in hand. There was no rest for the medics, and it seemed by his overt importance that Kix was one of the best. Watching him administer a bactapack to the neck of an injured trooper, his care visible in the gentleness of the action, Dogma decided that he liked Kix. He wasn’t as abrasive as Jesse and Fives, and his calm demeanor was a welcome sight during the unknown that was approaching.

A few meters to his left, Tup stirred, waking from his light sleep. With their buckets on to suppress the heat, it wasn’t clear what Tup might have been thinking, but Dogma watched as he looked around, likely assessing the changes since he closed his eyes. Just as Dogma contemplated saying something to him over comms, even just to ask where Fives was, though he knew he’d be in the tower with Captain Rex, the loud wail of a siren snapped him to his feet.

Hardcase and Jesse were awake immediately, jumping up with barely a stumble, and the voice of General Skywalker sounded over his helmet comms.

“We’ve got word that the Separatists have started to move. Earlier than expected. Denal, you and your men stay here to guard the tower, see if you can disable the rest of their communications from here. The rest of us will draw them to that field a few k’s over. Let’s move out.”

Dogma scrambled to where the majority of troopers started to march, sending up a silent prayer for their safety that he knew would not be answered. There would be a lot of bloodshed in the next few hours, he could feel it, skin prickling in apprehension. This time, not even Hardcase made a sound as they hurried towards the clearing.

Once they reached the large field, Dogma spotted the Republic cannons and walkers already set up, waiting for the enemy. Hundreds of troopers filed into the field, and he tried not to think about how many of them wouldn’t march back out again.

_Chances are, I won’t either_ , Dogma thought, heart sinking. At least he would die doing what he was born to do; fighting for the Republic and ensuring their victory in important systems. There was some comfort in that. He took a deep breath, steadied his balance, aimed his blaster up ahead, and waited. There was a tentative stillness, the weight of the heat settling on them as if to watch the battle itself. The Separatists were nowhere to be seen, though he knew they must be arriving soon, but Dogma heard a barely audible click and his nerves screamed in warning.

A faint whistling sounded overhead, getting louder by the millisecond, and Dogma looked up. There was a tiny moment of hesitation as they saw the large burning flame move across the hazy sky, then a wild flurry of movement.

“Move! Move! Move!”

Dogma ran and dove, hearing the explosion sound just meters from where his once was. One of the walkers was up in flames, the trooper trapped inside, and Dogma felt sick. He only had a second to register the horror before more explosions and blaster fire followed.

From then on, it was pure carnage.

This was more droids than he’d ever seen in his life, and the troopers around him were dropping like flies. He could barely see five meters in front of him, the mix of haze that still hadn’t lifted and disturbed environment restricting his vision. Even worse, the suffocating heat made the smell of burnt flesh even stronger, and Dogma nearly heaved into his bucket when he tripped on the body of an unmoving trooper.

From the unfamiliar markings on the armour, it wasn’t anyone he knew, but he felt awful all the same.

Blaster fire whizzed past his body, and he pushed himself back up to his feet to aim in the direction of the incoming droids. In all the noise and distorted vision, he’d lost sight of the others. Shooting at the enemy, he strained to hear the comforting sound of a rotary cannon, but couldn’t make out anything over the sound of blast fire and cannons. Dogma tried not to let that worry him.

Suddenly, the whistle was back, and it was _loud_. Dogma barely had time to think ‘oh no’, before he was violently thrown backwards, head hitting the ground with a hard thump.

Groaning, there was a second of confused peace and Dogma blinked slowly up at the sky. And then the searing pain in his right leg registered in his brain. A muffled scream burst from his mouth as his vision went white. Panicking, he tried to lift himself back up again, but couldn’t find any energy to do so and flopped back down. The only thing registering in his brain was _PainPainPainPAIN_.

_Oh Gods, I’ve lost my leg,_ Dogma thought when some semblance of coherence returned, grinding his teeth together painfully to stop his screams. _My legs been blown off, they’ll kick me out of the GAR. They’ll decommission me_.

Lolling his head to the side and opening his eyes, he could make out through blurry vision that his leg was in fact still attached. The armour, however, had been blown off and Dogma dry retched into his bucket at the sight of the seared flesh revealed underneath, blood seemingly everywhere. The relief of still having two legs lasted only a couple of seconds, as a new thought replaced it.

_I’m going to die out here_.

Dogma groaned, the excruciating pain from his leg a solid distraction as more explosions rung out around him. He had read in a manual that burns that were so severe actually fried the nerves in that area, stopping the person from feeling the pain; the galaxy couldn’t even grant him that small mercy. Just as he felt himself starting to black out, a firm grip wrenched itself under his arms and dragged him across the ground.

He let out a choked sob as stabs of pain travelled up his leg, the limb burning as it was pulled over mud and stones.

“You’re alright, trooper,” a voice reassured him, and Dogma groaned in response. Eventually the dragging stopped and his limp body was readjusted. Dogma became aware of the sounds of heavy breathing and cries around him and opened his eyes blearily. He was among other injured troopers, and his rescuer was knelt down beside his leg, fiddling with his medkit. The symbol on his shoulder identified him as a medic, but the markings weren’t familiar, so he knew it wasn’t Kix.

The medic removed his right thigh plate and clipped away what remained of his blacks on his right leg, leaving around ten inches of fabric below his hip. He hissed as a liquid was poured on his large wound, gasping for air as it seemed to sizzle on his skin. No time for gentleness, the medic wrapped his leg in a non-stick gauze and hurried off, presumably to drag another injured trooper from the front.

Dogma lay there, groaning in pain, listening to the indistinct yelling of his brothers and wincing whenever the ground shook. Was this what Tye felt? Were his last moments spent alone and in agony? Dogma hadn’t thought about it before, what it had been like for Tye, and he hoped that he didn’t suffer.

An explosion rang out, and by the way his ears ached afterwards, Dogma suspected that it was very close by.

“Shit!” a voice yelled over the ruckus. Dogma couldn’t make out who it was. “They’re targeting the injured! Fucking-”

“We’ve got to get them outta here. Kix, we’ve got to call in a transport.”

“Fuck. We can’t take all of them though, they won’t fit.”

“I’ll go through, mark which ones are the worst or won’t be able be of any more help for a while.”

“Alright. Alright. Gods, what a mess. I’ll let Rex know.”

“Got it. I’ll get Coric on it too and report back as soon as I’m done.”

The Separatists were bombing the groups of injured troopers; horrific but not unheard of or unexpected. Dogma spent the minutes waiting for the unnamed medic’s return _hating_ the enemy, cursing them for their acts of inhumanity as his blood boiled with rage. Eventually, the blurry form of the medic appeared above him, looking at Dogma for a second before stamping a red tag to his chest plate and moving onto the next trooper.

_Please tell me that means I can get out of here_ , Dogma thought, panting as his leg throbbed painfully. His prayers were answered when he felt himself being dragged again, and he nearly bit through his lip at the agony of his leg scraping against the ground. He couldn’t stop the whimpers though.

“You’re alright,” the medic told him, his voice strained but comforting. “We’re getting you out of here and back up to the cruiser. You’ll be alright.”

_No, I won’t. I’m on fire_ , Dogma wanted to tell him, but he couldn’t even form the words. After a few minutes the dragging stopped and he was lifted onto a hard surface. Opening his eyes, Dogma could blearily make out a grey ceiling above him and he sighed in relief. He was on the transport.

With that thought, he lost consciousness.

* * *

Dogma opened his eyes, a dull throbbing pain registering in his mind. He looked up at the white ceiling and frowned in confusion, raising his arm to rub his face when the tube running into his hand made him start. Staring at the offending mechanism, he gasped and scrambled into a sitting position, looking for the damage to his leg. The sudden rush caused his head to spin and he leaned over the cot to empty the contents of his stomach onto the ground, though it was thankfully only fluids.

“Charming,” a voice commented, and Dogma collapsed back onto the cot. The medic cleaned up the mess, by the markings it wasn’t the one that had saved his life, and he leaned over to re-tape the tube in Dogma’s hand.

“S-Sorry,” Dogma stuttered, embarrassed. But the trooper just snorted.

“Don’t worry about it, vomit is one of the preferred bodily fluids in the medbay. Alright, I’m just going to take a look at your wound…?”

Dogma realised he was asking for his name, “It’s Dogma.”

“Lovely to meet you Dogma, I’m Brent. I’m just going to look at your wound again, but from what I’ve seen in the checkups so far, you likely won’t have severe permanent damage. Just a gnarly scar and some mild nerve damage.”

Dogma watched the medic warily. He was awfully chipper for someone in such a traumatic job, pleasant smile stretching over a scar that travelled from below his left nostril, down over his lips to his chin. But Dogma didn’t have much choice right now, so he just shrugged in acceptance. “How long have I been in here?”

“Around thirty-six hours,” Brent replied, beginning to unwrap the gauze from his leg. Dogma realised he was still in his blacks, smelling of a nasty combination of sweat, dirt and blood, and immediately felt sorry for Brent. “We hit you with some pretty heavy pain relief, it’s still holding, I hope?”

“Yes sir, I can feel… something, but it’s nowhere near as bad as on Thyferra.”

“Gods, isn’t that place terrible? If it wasn’t such a big source of our bacta I’d say it was the worst planet in the galaxy. Words can’t explain how happy I was when given the order to remain on the cruiser, just in case shit hit the fan up here.”

With a start, Dogma remembered his brothers who were still down on the surface. Tup, Hardcase… were they alright? Maybe they were even up here with him? “Who… how many troopers were taken back to the cruiser?”

“Hmm, around forty,” Brent had fully unwrapped the gauze, but Dogma refused to look at what lied underneath. “A couple died here in the medbay, lost too much blood, but I think we’ve got everyone stable now. I heard they were targeting the injured on the field, that’s fucked up.”

Dogma nodded, closing his eyes as he felt Brent prodded lightly at his wound. “What’s…” he winced. “What’s happening on the surface?”

“Dunno. Not long after you lot got here, we heard the communications tower got overrun and then they jammed all our signals. We’ve heard nothing for ages, couldn’t even let them know which damn troopers we’ve got up here. Word is they’re going to call in the 212th for backup though, which is fantastic. I’ve got a bit of a crush on General Kenobi, you see.”

Dogma stared at Brent like he’d sprouted a second head, but the medic just hummed away as he re-wrapped Dogma’s leg.

“Right, looks great. Well… for a high-grade burn that is. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to pump more pain-meds into you, see you later!”

Gaping at the medic’s retreating form, Dogma stared back down at his leg. And he’d thought _Hardcase_ was odd. He glanced discreetly at the other troopers in cots near him, but they didn’t seem to be paying him any attention, if they were awake at all. 

Brent hadn’t given him good news though. The communications tower had been overrun, implying heavy casualties, he was likely presumed dead, and he had no idea if Tup or Hardcase were still alive and had no way to find out. Plus, his leg nearly got blown off.

Overall, not a great day.

As each hour passed, the dull throb slowly grew to a steady ache. By the time Brent returned with the promise of more pain medication, the agony was starting to return. Brent fiddled with his hand tube and the pain reduced almost immediately. Dogma closed his eyes and unclenched his fists in relief.

“Better?” Brent asked, and Dogma nodded. “Good, this will last you about eight hours. I’ve got some fatigues here for you to change into. I can help you, if you’d like?”

About to refuse, Dogma paused. He didn’t want to go anywhere near his leg, and Brent, despite his oddities, _was_ a medic. It was his job to help with this kind of thing.

“Okay,” Dogma replied quietly. All business, Brent tugged off the pants of his blacks, not even giving Dogma time to be embarrassed with being exposed in just his underclothes, and lifted his back with surprising strength to pull up the fatigues. Setting the torn fabric aside, Brent reached up to help with his long sleeve, pausing when his hand circled Dogma’s wrist.

“What’s this?” he asked. Dogma, tired and confused, looked at the slight bulge under the blacks covering his wrist and blinked. Brent reached over to remove the item, and it was then that Dogma registered what he was actually looking at. Quick as a flash, he slapped his tubed hand over his wrist, feeling the flimsy press against his skin.

Brent just stared at him in surprise, glancing between Dogma’s wrist and his defiant glare, before a sly grin took over his face.

“Ooh, okay. Keep your secrets then,” Brent placed the upper body fatigue on Dogma’s chest and pulled the tube from his wrist. “It’s done its job for now,” was his reply when Dogma looked at him in horror. “Don’t get up and start walking around before I come see you again.”

Brent took one last glance at Dogma’s wrist, patted him on the shoulder, then left. Dogma waited for a minute until he was completely sure the medic was gone and pulled the flimsy out from its hiding spot, inspecting it closely. The page was relatively unharmed; perhaps a couple more crinkles and an extra tear in the corner, but nothing drastic. Relieved, he slipped the flimsy into the pocket of his pants and got changed into the rest of his fatigues. A shower would be _fantastic_ , the smell of dried sweat on his skin hardly pleasant, but Dogma would have to settle for the comfort of dry, clean clothes for at least the next little while.

* * *

Time passed extraordinarily slowly in the medbay. At his next checkup, Dogma had asked Brent if there was a list of the troopers who had been taken up to the cruiser. In his current position, Dogma could only see two other troopers on cots, but he knew a cruiser of this size had multiple rooms, so perhaps the medics had wanted to space them out a bit more. He hoped that maybe Hardcase or Tup were up here with him and just hidden around the corner or in another room, but when Brent handed him the datapad, Dogma didn’t recognise any of the CT numbers and adjacent names.

With no connection with the surface, he had no idea if they were still alive. With a start, Dogma realised that _Kix_ hadn’t seen him among the injured either; surely he would have said something to him if he had. It was another medic that had dragged him to safety and then to the transport.

No one had taken down his name or CT number on Thyferra; they wouldn’t even know he’d left the planet.

Dogma had seen some of the bodies of deceased troopers on the battlefield; some had been blown to bits or charred so badly their armour was unrecognizable. Who knew what the unidentified trooper body-count would be when that battle settled down and the men could count their losses?

_I wonder if Tup will care_.

Dogma dispelled that awful thought immediately; _of course_ Tup would care, they had spent years together on Kamino, that didn’t count for nothing. But the niggling insecurity remained at the back of his mind the rest of the day.

The following few days were spent feeling sorry for himself and getting grumpy at poor Brent for no apparent reason. Dogma felt awful about his behaviour, but he was so damn frustrated with his injury and the length of recovery that he just couldn’t stop himself. _I should be down there, fighting for the Republic, not stuck in here like an invalid_.

Day four in the medbay, Brent poked a needle into his arm for the hundredth time, and Dogma smacked his hand away in anger. “Will you fucking stop that?! My leg’s the problem, not my damn arm. No wonder it’s taking forever to heal.”

Brent was unbothered by his comments, “I forget how knowledgeable you regular troopers become when you get in here. I’m learning so much from you lot,” he responded cheerfully, holding Dogma’s arm still as he injected the needle again. “I know you’re frustrated, Dogma, but I promise that I am actually trying to help.”

Dogma grumbled unhappily, but closed his eyes in embarrassment at his behaviour. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re alright. A shinie called me a cheap whore once when I had to rebreak their arm after it healed incorrectly, that one really hurt my feelings.”

Dogma snorted at that and looked up at Brent’s scarred face, “How long do you think it will be until I can start walking?”

Humming in thought, Brent rolled up his right pantleg and unwound the gauze. “About time to change this over, anyway,” he muttered to himself and inspected the damage. Dogma still couldn’t bring himself to look at it, so he kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Look, a severe burn like this would require skin grafts on a regular human, sometimes even a clone. We’re lucky that the medic who treated it initially did a great job, but we’ve got to give the skin time to regenerate and heal. Give it another standard week or two and I reckon you’ll be able to put weight on it again. Walking and running should follow soon after.”

_Weeks?!_ To his horror, frustrated tears started to gather in his eyes and Dogma quickly closed them so Brent wouldn’t see. He felt more bacta being spread on his leg and then the pressure of the bandage being reapplied. The pain relief was doing its job well. “Have…” Dogma rasped, then cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything from the surface?”

“No, nothing yet. There is some good news though, the 212th should be here any day now.”

Dogma let out a deep breath, opening his eyes when he felt like his emotions were under control. He watched Brent for a second, “Are you the only medic onboard?”

“Just me and one other,” he replied, finishing the wrapping. “They always get a couple of us to stay back incase something happens with the crew up here. Good thing there’s no blockade this time otherwise I’d be even more swamped and there’s no way you could’ve made it back up here.”

Dogma wasn’t an idiot; he knew Brent was telling him he was lucky to be alive. To be thankful he even had the ability to feel frustrated. The combination of excruciating pain and blood loss would have killed him, and it made him feel even worse about his shitty behaviour.

As if sensing his thoughts, Brent placed a calloused hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re feeling a bit down, Dogma. We all get like that when we’re hurt. But it’ll get better soon, in a month you’ll forget you were even in here,” he said earnestly, and Dogma couldn’t help but believe him. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll bring you to the showers and give you a proper wash down under the hot water. Sound good?”

It sounded _amazing_ , and Brent laughed when Dogma nodded eagerly.

“Great, I’ll get a stretcher and a protector for your leg.”

The medbay showers were empty when they entered, Dogma’s leg wrapped in a black encasement he assumed was waterproof. He sat up on the levitating stretcher and pull off the top of his fatigues, pausing with his pants when he realised Brent was only a couple of meters away, turning on the showerhead. Catching his eye, the medic waved him on.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve seen it all before.”

Sighing in resignation, Dogma removed his pants and underclothes, making sure the flimsy remained safely in the pocket. Satisfied with the temperature, Brent made his way back over to Dogma, wrapping his arm around his upper body and moving his legs so they hung over the side of the stretcher. Dogma gritted his teeth in both mild pain and embarrassment; being treated and exposed like this was _humiliating_.

“Alright, I’m going to get you to put some weight on your left leg before I set you down again under the spray. You’ll feel lightheaded at some point, which should pass, but let me know if you think you’ll faint. If you need to vomit, don’t fight it.”

_Well that’s a lovely warning_ , Dogma grumbled to himself, but nodded all the same. Brent lifted a hand under Dogma’s right thigh and hauled him off the stretcher, pulling Dogma’s arm around his shoulder with the other. Black spots appeared across Dogma’s vision as he hobbled with Brent’s support, breathing becoming loud in his ears, but he managed to keep himself together. Brent placed him down beside the flow of water and leaned him up against the tiles, retrieving a washcloth and handing it to Dogma.

“If you get too tired, let me know and I’ll do it,” he said, and Dogma decided that he’d rather stick pins in his eyes than have another trooper wash him.

He was, however, eternally grateful for Brent’s kindness; anytime Dogma was in a fit of pain and ridiculously rude, the medic just brushed it off like it was nothing. It was their job, yes, but Brent seemed to go above and beyond to make sure he was comfortable.

Dogma didn’t trust easily, but he trusted Brent.

* * *

Another mindless week passed, ten days since he arrived on the cruiser, and Dogma was beginning to go stir crazy with all the restrictions on his body. His mood had briefly improved when Brent handed him some crutches as some of his strength returned, allowing him to wander the empty halls, but the excitement only lasted for a short time when there really wasn’t much else to do. Even the other troopers in his room had been uncommunicative, perhaps mourning their own losses.

The burn was steadily improving, although Dogma still had not yet looked at it under the heavy bandage, and Brent predicted that he could start walking again in two standard days, ordering him not to be tempted to try before then. Luckily, Dogma was very good at following orders. That news was nothing compared to later that day when Brent rushed to his bedside, face lit up with joy.

“They did it! They’ve taken back Thyferra!” he grinned, and Dogma threw his head back with relief. “The General commed through just now. The 212th are staying down there for a couple extra days, but the 501st sustained pretty heavy casualties, so they’re heading back up here to regroup.”

The reminder of his brothers back on the surface caused his mood to plummet again, and Dogma’s chest ached at the thought of Hardcase and Tup not returning to the cruiser. He had managed to (poorly) distract himself from thinking about the battle continuing down in that cauldron, as there was nothing he could do to help from up here, but the 501st’s imminent arrival caused that anxiety to return ten-fold.

“I might go have a shower, if that’s alright?” he asked Brent, keeping his eyes on the waterproof encasement at the foot of the cot.

“Go right ahead.”

Dogma shuffled over to the side of the cot, swinging his legs over and reaching for the bulky leg protector. He could hear Brent telling another trooper the good news about the battle, but blocked it out and focused on angling his crutches safely. This was always the hardest part; getting out of the cot without falling on his face. Everything else was relatively easy.

Once he was steady, Dogma hobbled over to the medbay ‘fresher at the back of the room, passing a couple of sleeping troopers wrapped in all kind of bandages and contraptions. He was thankful that the awful burn was at least something he’d recover from, and he hoped these troopers would be able to do the same.

Inside the showers, he undressed and sat under the hot spray, crutches lying next to him. The medbay ‘fresher was nice, the room was built to fit stretchers so it was quite spacious, but he hated what came with having a shower. He hated looking down at the heavy black encasement that started at his knee and covered his foot. At least the regular thick bandage was covered by his fatigues; with that and the pain medication he could pretend that nothing had happened and forget the blinding fear and pain he’d been in. That kind of distraction wasn’t possible with the leg protector, and he often came out of his showers feeling upset. And today it was even worse.

Dogma’s heart was pounding heavily in his chest. He didn’t want to leave the showers. He didn’t want to find out his brothers were _dead_.

But troopers were only allotted a short time in the showers, and he’d already taken around twenty minutes too long. It was time to get out. Dogma heaved himself off the tiled floor, gripping his crutches tightly and turning off the water. He took his time drying himself off with a towel and getting dressed in his underclothes and fatigues, removing the leg protector and placing it on the bench by the mirrors. Brent, thankfully, would retrieve it from there. With one final press of his hand against the flimsy in his pocket, Dogma hobbled out of the ‘fresher.

Brent was nowhere to be seen when Dogma limped towards his cot, presumably in another medbay room, and he leaned his crutches up against his bedside, ready to lift himself up when he noticed an armoured trooper about to exit back out through the doors. With his bucket clenched against his hip, the lined tattoo at the back of his skull stood out and Dogma’s heart leapt with joy.

“Hardcase?” he said, phrased like a question though he knew it was him. Hardcase whipped around, wide eyed, and an elated grin split across his face.

Dogma opened his mouth to speak again, but with a couple of quick strides Hardcase was in front of him, enveloping him in a strong, fierce embrace. For a second, Dogma felt the impulse to push him away, but that was quickly replaced by an overwhelming warmth blooming in his chest. He returned the hug, ignoring the points of Hardcase’s armour and closing his eyes, letting himself relish the feelings of comfort, relief and safety.

“We thought you were gone,” Hardcase mumbled over his shoulder, still gripping Dogma tightly.

“I was just… in the showers,” Dogma choked out, overwhelmed by the emotions he was experiencing.

“No, on the surface, you idiot,” Hardcase smacked his back playfully. “You just didn’t turn up, and Kix said he hadn’t seen you either,” he retracted his arms, and accidentally knocked his foot against Dogma’s bandaged leg covered by fatigues.

“ _Fucking hells_ ,” Dogma hissed, gripping the cot tightly as a stab of pain shot up his leg.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” Hardcase panicked, taking a couple extra steps back as to not hurt him again. “Fuck. Dogma, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think. I haven’t even asked about your injury and then I go and crush all your bones…”

“It’s fine,” Dogma interrupted, gritting his teeth and lifting himself up onto the cot as the pain quickly subsided. “It’s just my leg; it’s a bit sensitive is all.”

Hardcase frowned, and his eyes widened suddenly. “Oh! I better get Tup, we’ve been looking in the medbay rooms hoping to find you. He’s been really worried.”

Dogma blinked in surprise, “He has?”

“Of course he has, idiot. Hold on, I’ll go grab him,” Hardcase raced out the medbay, a whirlwind of energy, and Dogma stared as the door closed behind him. The pleasant warmth in his chest still remained, and Dogma adjusted himself into a sitting position on the cot as he waited for his batchmate.

The doors slid open and Dogma perked up, but it was Brent and another medic helping some injured troopers into the room. Dogma watched them settle the wounded down onto cots, muttering together as they assembled their equipment and leaned over the groaning men. Watching them with curiosity, Dogma wondered what _he_ had looked like when he’d first arrived in here, if his burn had looked as painful as it had felt, medics assessing the damage while he was unconscious.

The sound of the doors opening again caught Dogma’s attention, and he looked over to see Tup entering, eyes wide and hair wild as he clutched his bucket. He rushed over to his bedside and gripped the side of the cot tightly, eyes roaming down Dogma’s body as if checking for his injury. Tup’s gaze returned to his face, and Dogma could see his expression was pinched in pain.

“Tup, it’s alright, I’m fine-” he started, and Tup reached down to grip his hand tightly, his gloves scratching against Dogma’s skin.

“I felt _awful_ ,” Tup whispered, and Dogma watched his batchmate with wide eyes. Tup had always been more emotional than him, but he’d never seen him like this. “When I thought of the last time we spoke… what I said to you…”

Dogma shook his head, “I deserved it. Don’t worry about it, Tup. I’m fine now.”

“Of course I’m worried, you _prick_ ,” Tup hissed and Dogma blinked up at him. “We thought you had _died_.”

“Oh…” Dogma mumbled and looked away from him, spotting Hardcase hovering behind him, a cheerful smile on his face. Feeling his heart flutter in his chest, Dogma coughed. “What about the others? Are they alright?”

Hardcase stepped forward, “We lost a lot of troopers, but Jesse, Fives and Kix are all okay. Spark too,” he added.

A sigh of relief escaped Dogma’s lips, but his mood was still dampened somewhat at the reminder of how many men had died on Thyferra. The three of them were quiet, and Dogma finally took a good look at both of them. They looked _terrible_ ; pallor clear beneath their copper skin and purple bags heavy underneath their eyes. Thyferra was truly an awful place.

Tup was still clutching his hand when Brent materialised beside them.

“Well, aren’t you popular, Dogma,” he grinned, and Dogma sent him a flat look. He was very, _very_ far from popular. Tup let go of his hand and he and Hardcase watched Brent place his equipment on Dogma’s cot. Dogma could see them peering questioningly at the medic’s unique scar. “Just going to change these over quickly,” he started to lift the pantleg, and Dogma felt the panic rise in his chest.

“Wait,” he bit out, and Brent stopped his movement. Dogma glanced at Tup and Hardcase and then back at the medic, silently pleading for Brent to understand.

“Oh sorry, my mistake,” Brent commented cheerfully, not hesitating for a beat. “All these new patients have got me a bit rattled. You two will need to step out for a second, we’ve got to keep the area sterile when checking the wound, you see.”

Tup and Hardcase quickly took a step back. “Oh right, we’ll wait outside,” Tup said and they hurried out. Brent waited until he heard the door slide shut before continuing his movement and pulling up the pantleg to begin the inspection on the recovering burn.

“Thank you,” Dogma whispered, his gratitude for the medic immense. Brent smiled at him and unwrapped the bandage.

“Have you even told them what the injury is yet?”

“No.”

“The longer you don’t tell them, the more they will ask about it.”

“I know.”

Brent sent him a knowing look that Dogma ignored and started reapplying the bacta. “You know… I’ve never seen a brother with hair that long before. Looks awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you just want to write Dogma getting a hug from Hardcase, but end up writing a 5800 word chapter… just quarantine things.
> 
> I am planning on writing this chapter again from Tup's perspective, so we can get an idea of what it was like to for him and Hardcase to think they'd lost Dogma, but as a separate one-shot. I wanted to keep this story 100% from Dogma's perspective all the way through. I'll let you guys know when I post it, if that's something you'd like to read. 
> 
> I know a lot of the medical shit is incorrect, but let's pretend that bacta is a magical substance that can heal all wounds yay. I've had this story beat planned for a long time, as it gets certain parts of the story really moving, but it still didn't come out quite how I wanted it to. Hope you guys like it though.
> 
> Also, I know no one's read this far, but I found it hilarious: I was writing at like 11pm and instead of typing 'his blood boiled with rage', I accidentally wrote 'his egg boiled with rage'. When I realised I was like okay sleep time lmao.


	9. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: in-universe prejudice

Dogma woke up the next morning with a content smile on his face.

He was alive. Hardcase and Tup were alive. Thyferra was back under Republic occupation. And tomorrow… he would start walking again.

It was an odd feeling, to be so happy and content, but he knew he was far more lucky than he deserved to be. So many troopers had perished on Thyferra, the unfortunate cleanup likely still being completed by the 212th as they re-established control on the surface, but somehow Dogma had avoided a significant portion of the tragedy. He didn’t even have to spend that long in that overheated hellhole.

It felt wrong, like he had just used up all his remaining luck in life.

Just as Dogma was starting to dread all the upcoming opportunities for his demise, the medbay doors slid open to reveal Captain Rex. For a beat, Dogma just stared at him in surprise, the captain’s gaze purposeful as he glanced around the medbay, bucket clipped to his hip. Shaken from his post-sleep stupor, Dogma scrambled into a sitting position, straightening his posture as best he could.

His movement caught Captain Rex’s eye, and he made his way over to Dogma’s cot. No matter that Dogma’s cot was the closest to the doors, all he could think of was that _Captain Rex_ had come to visit _him_.

“At ease,” he said quietly when he reached him, glancing at the crutches beside the cot. “Dogma, isn’t it?”

Dogma nodded and relaxed his posture only slightly, “Yes, sir.”

“How is your recovery coming along?” he asked, eyes reflecting the concern in his voice. Dogma greatly disliked pity, but from Captain Rex he would accept the sympathy.

“It’s going well, sir,” Dogma replied, keeping his tone clipped and formal. “Brent says I will be able to start walking again tomorrow.”

“That’s good news. Brent is a fantastic medic; he’ll know what’s best for you. Anyhow, if you’re expecting to make a full recovery in the coming weeks, you should be able to join us for the campaign on Mirial.”

On the outside, Dogma maintained his respectful countenance, but on the inside, he couldn’t help but grumble in annoyance. Another campaign so soon after the disaster on Thyferra? From the sunken looks on Tup and Hardcase’s faces yesterday, the troopers were _exhausted_. But the Republic needed them on Mirial, so to Mirial they would go.

As if sensing his concern, Captain Rex patted his shoulder lightly. “It will be nothing like Thyferra, both in climate and losses. We likely won’t even need half the men we have onboard,” he said, and Dogma let the relief wash over him. “Are you able to eat in the mess today?”

“Oh, no sir,” Dogma replied, shaking his head immediately. “With my injury, I haven’t been able to wear my armour.” Captain Rex frowned, and Dogma added, “It’s against regulations to be in the mess without armour on.”

Captain Rex’s mouth twitched, “Well, I’ll make a specific exemption for you then, Dogma.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dogma replied, but his stomach filled with dread. A trooper eating in the mess dressed in fatigues would stand out on any day, but add in the crutches and the accompanying limp and it would garner more attention than Dogma would ever want under any circumstances. It would be humiliating.

And now he couldn’t _not_ go, since the captain had gone out of his way to personally allow him to bypass the regulations. To not go would be disrespectful to his kindness.

Unaware of stress he’d just caused, Captain Rex patted him on the shoulder, gave him more well wishes for his recovery, and made his way to the next cot. Dogma waited until he heard him start to speak to the trooper, before sliding down and resting his head on the stiff pillow, closing his eyes in frustration.

Aside from Hardcase and Tup, and whenever Kix flittered through the medbay room to monitor patients, Dogma hadn’t had any other visitors. And truth be told, he was _glad_ for it. It made sense for Captain Rex to check up on injured troopers and keep them up to date on upcoming campaigns, but he wouldn’t expect Fives and Jesse to specifically pay him a visit, not when they surely had brothers they’d known longer than a couple of months who had either died on Thyferra or were seriously injured. It was a relief that they hadn’t seen him yet; Dogma hated pity, but he hated it more from people who didn’t even like him.

And now he’d have to parade his injury in front of them. At least the burn could be covered, and Dogma thanked the gods for small mercies.

* * *

A few hours later, Brent helped him settle on his crutches. This would be the longest amount of time Dogma had ever used them, and Brent gave him strict orders to not be tempted to try and start walking yet and to not be afraid to ask for help. Dogma sent him at steely glare at that, and Hardcase thankfully entered the medbay before he could snap at the medic.

“Oh, are you going somewhere, Dogma?” Hardcase asked, his bucket attached to his hip. Clenched in his hand were the outline of sabacc cards, and Dogma felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. Hardcase had come to spend time with him.

Brent interjected before he could respond, “Dogma’s going to be eating in the mess today. You wouldn’t mind helping him out with his food and all that, trooper?”

“ _Brent_ ,” Dogma hissed, face burning in humiliation. “I don’t need any help-”

“Oh, and how are you planning on carrying a tray with those crutches? I know you’re not a jedi, you’re far too grumpy.”

“I can help him, it’s no problem,” Hardcase said, and Dogma seethed at the medic’s cheerful smile. Hardcase placed the cards down on Dogma’s cot, bringing out a raised eyebrow from Brent, and the two headed out the medbay. All Dogma could think about as he hobbled along at a ridiculously slow pace, Hardcase thankfully not commenting on it, was that he deeply regretted not building up practice with the crutches. He had assumed that since he’d be able to walk again in not too much time, that he wouldn’t need to bother.

Well. He was wrong.

Troopers passing by glanced at his pathetic attempt to look coordinated, and Dogma kept his head down to hide his rapidly growing embarrassment. Eventually, Hardcase broke the silence.

“So, what happened to your leg?”

The bluntness was as frustrating as it was relieving; there was no beating around the bush with Hardcase, and Dogma had always appreciated honesty. But that didn’t mean he had to like the question.

“It’s just a burn,” Dogma replied, not looking at him.

Hardcase hummed, “Must be a pretty bad burn then.”

“I guess,” Dogma muttered, and their arrival at the mess doors thankfully ended the conversation. Dogma took a deep, calming breath and set his jaw in determination. _It’s just lunch_ , he told himself.

“You go sit with the others, I’ll grab us our food,” Hardcase said as the doors opened, hurrying off in the direction of whatever slosh they had onboard today. Dogma watched him for a second and then glanced around the mess hall, the chatter from the troopers both loud and comforting. Identifying the table with Fives, Tup, Kix and Jesse, Dogma let a reluctant sigh pass his lips and hobbled over to them. To his surprise, hardly any troopers glanced him, though he stood out, too engrossed in their conversations or meals.

Dogma had nearly reached the table before he was noticed. Fives saw him first. He paused mid-sentence, clearly in the middle of some dramatic storytelling, and his eyes widened in surprise. Dogma had a second to regret his entire life, before Fives scrambled out of his chair and the others turned to see what had caught his attention.

“Oh, Dogma, here let me help you,” he said, hovering beside him. Dogma grit his teeth in humiliation and limped as swiftly as he could to a spare seat opposite Tup.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, placing his crutches under the table and settling in the chair as gracefully as he could. Once he had rested his covered foot gently on the floor, Dogma glanced up to see them all watching him; Tup with a pinched smile and the others with various expressions of concern. Not wanting them to get the wrong idea and hassle him even more, Dogma hurriedly placated them. “It’s only temporary, I’ll be walking again tomorrow.”

Fives let out an audible sigh of relief and sat back down in his chair. “Good to hear. I didn’t realise you were still only at this stage of recovery.”

“What happened?” Jesse asked, scooping some slosh into his mouth. Dogma took a second to breathe through his irritation.

“My leg got burned,” he replied stiffly. Dogma prayed for Hardcase’s quick return; at least with some food in front of him he’d have something to distract himself with. Or discourage others from asking questions.

“Were you taken to the area of injured troopers first?” Kix asked from beside him, and Dogma nodded. “Damn, I can’t believe I didn’t see you there. Would have saved some a bit of grief.”

Tup looked down at that, his expression crestfallen. Dogma watched him for a second, frowning at the way Tup’s dark hair hung over his eyes; it really was far too long. Soon enough, he conversation between the others picked up again.

It had been… awkward with Tup.

After his visit where they had been reunited, some of that initial jubilation had worn off for both of them and they’d been left with a mixture of guilt, embarrassment and untold apologies. Dogma had no doubt in his mind now that Tup cared deeply for him, and Dogma felt the same way; their bond as batchmates made them connected for life. But while the anger had gone, the words they had said to each other remained, and Dogma knew that deep down they had both meant them.

Dogma still found Tup’s desire to impress infuriating, and Tup still found his constant adherence to the rules unbearable to be around.

That hadn’t changed.

But he hoped that when the dust eventually settled from the dramatics of Thyferra, or at least when Tup stopped feeling so obviously guilty, they could be friends again. Although he would never understand why Tup would get such a ridiculous tattoo.

A tray of slosh sliding in front of his eyeline made him start, and Hardcase settled down beside him, patting his shoulder once. That familiar warmth settled in chest at the contact and Dogma frowned; _maybe_ he and Tup had never even truly been close friends? He certainly had never felt as drawn to Tup as he did Hardcase, and he hadn’t really known Hardcase for that long.

A loud burst of laughter from Hardcase startled Dogma from his thoughts, and he quickly dug into his food, ignoring the way the flavourless gunk seemed to stick to the back of his throat.

“I’m telling you, it was _green_.”

“No way, I don’t believe you. Why would he dye his hair green? It makes no sense.”

“Eyeball has never made sense, Kix. He’s always been nuts. Anyway, I _saw_ it. He took off his bucket for a second and I saw a flash of green. Wonder what Cody thinks of it.”

“It could have been a trick of the light, you know Thyferra is super hazy.”

Hardcase vibrated with silent laughter as Kix and Jesse argued, and Dogma let himself relax in their company. He wasn’t comfortable, but he was content.

“Oh, Hardcase,” Fives interrupted, getting their attention. “There’s been a mix up with the shifts, and Rex wants you on for the next one.”

Hardcase groaned, “ _Fine_. Ugh, I’ll come visit you after, Dogma.”

Dogma blinked in surprise but muttered a pleased ‘okay’, catching Tup’s eye opposite him. He knew by the guilty look on his face that Tup wasn’t going to come see him yet either, but Dogma could understand it. Now that he was safe, there wasn’t really much for them to talk about… except for things they both didn’t _want_ to talk about. It was complicated, and that meant it would take time.

He gave Tup a subtle, reassuring smile that was quickly returned.

_We can fix this_ , Dogma thought to himself, bringing his spoon up to his lips. And this time, he actually believed it.

* * *

Arriving back at the medbay, Dogma immediately decided to have a shower. The last hour had been stressful, being in the company of so many troopers after seeing only one for nearly two weeks, and he was craving for the privacy of the medbay showers. Once fully healed, he might even miss the place. Dogma had just finished pulling up the pants of his fatigues after sitting under the spray for ten minutes when the ‘fresher door slid open.

He squeaked in surprise, shirt hanging in his hand, but was bewildered when he recognised the armour of the intruder. His hair had been newly shaved at the sides, leaving a wavy mop on top, but the signature ‘T’s on his shoulders stood were unmistakable.

“What are you doing in here,” Dogma hissed, pulling the long sleeve over his head and resting his armpits on the crutches.

Spark raised an eyebrow at him, “I was clearly looking for you.”

“You can’t be in here, it’s for injured troopers only.”

Spark just shrugged, and Dogma peered at him. Maybe it was just the new hairstyle, but Spark was looking healthier than he’d seen in a while now. It was the eyes, he realised, they didn’t look quite as _empty_. The silence stretched, and Dogma was about to hobble past him when Spark spoke again.

“I saw you in the mess today.”

“Well, I didn’t see you,” was Dogma’s curt reply. He didn’t know what Spark was playing at, but he was tired and ready to close his eyes before Hardcase came back.

“Look, Dogma,” Spark sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I just came to say thanks… you know, for helping me that night on Coruscant.”

Dogma blinked, “Oh.”

“I was in a bad place,” Spark continued. “And your dumbass got me home. I thought I should let you know that I appreciated it.”

Taken off-guard, Dogma tried to gather his thoughts. “That’s… okay,” he paused before adding, “Are you in a… better place now?”

“No,” was Spark’s simple response. Dogma frowned at him, leaning heavily on his crutches. This conversation was heading into a personal territory that he would rather not be, but he couldn’t just ignore this kind of language.

“You look a bit better.”

“Well I’m not, alright,” Spark suddenly snarled at him, and Dogma leaned back in surprise. “I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand.”

The way Spark spat out the ‘you’ with pure disdain made Dogma bristle in offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“While I appreciate your one and only act of kindness, Dogma,” Spark said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve never actually cared about anything that wasn’t in a fucking manual.”

Skin prickling with rage, Dogma glared him. “What the fuck is your _problem_?” The purpose of Spark’s appearance clearly wasn’t really to thank him at all. “You’re not the only clone who’s ever lost a brother.”

Spark’s eyes were wide, fists clenched tightly at his sides, and under the reflective ‘fresher lighting he suddenly looked unhinged. If he decided to kick Dogma’s ass right now, at least he was already in the medbay. Preparing for Spark to either lunge or scream at him, Dogma just about swayed in bewilderment when his voice dropped to a whisper.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one to lose a brother like Tye,” Spark looked away from him to his own reflection, and Dogma’s confusion was starting to manifest into a headache. “That’s something you’ll never understand.”

“You’re right that I don’t understand,” Dogma replied, setting his crutches forward. Spark had clearly lost his mind. “I’m going-”

“No,” Spark interrupted, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he turned back to Dogma. “Tye and I… we were closer than most troopers. Nearly all of them.”

Sighing, Dogma decided to humour him; he wasn’t going to let him out otherwise. “Okay…”

“Very close.”

“Yep, I got that part,” Dogma rubbed his eye, tired of Spark’s insane games. Arms beginning to ache as they leaned on the crutches, Dogma wondered what Spark would do if he just whacked him with one of them.

“Closer than what we were allowed,” Spark said carefully, watching him closely. Dogma rested his cheek against his palm and gazed back, frustrated with him. The silence stretched and Dogma frowned as he contemplated the words. _Closer than allowed_ … his thoughts screeched to a halt, mouth popping open in shock.

“Wha… you… _what_?!” he spluttered, one of his crutches slipping forward as he struggled to regain his composure. “Spark, that’s… that’s _wrong_. It’s-”

“Disgusting, yes I know,” Spark finished for him, calmly leaning against the sink as he watched Dogma’s face screw up in revulsion. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am _I_ going to do? Well, you’ll be reconditioned for one, that’s so far out of the guide of the regulations it’s ridiculous. Not to mention _highly illegal_.”

“Illegal from the perspective of the Kaminoans, yes, but I understand your point. Who will you tell?”

“I’ll report it to Captain Rex-” Dogma cut himself off, staring at Spark in confusion. In his shock and disgust, he hadn’t even registered that Spark wasn’t fighting him on this at all, he seemed almost _grateful_ for Dogma’s tirade. “You… you’re lying.”

_That_ got a reaction out of him, “ _What_? I am not _lying_.” Spark’s manic glare had returned.

“Yes, you are. Why would you tell me something like this? You’re just trying to embarrass me in front of the captain-”

“ _Gods_ , Dogma!” Spark interrupted, raising his voice. Dogma glanced at the doors; someone would hear them of Spark kept yelling at him like that. “Not everything’s about _you_ , you fucking prick.”

Dogma snarled at him. “Well then don’t involve _me_ in your insanity. I should have taken you to get assessed long ago, you’ve clearly lost it.”

“I am _not_ lying,” Spark repeated, sounding desperate. He was still blocking the pathway to the door, and Dogma gripped his crutch tightly, ready to swing it at him if need be. “Please report me, Dogma. It’s what you’re good at.”

“I…” Dogma started, getting whiplash from Spark's everchanging moods and overcome with renewed revulsion and a sense of duty. However… “I don’t know if I can. Tye is… no longer alive, so the, uh, _activity_ won’t have continued-”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m still defective. I need to be reconditioned,” Spark pleaded, eyes wide. Dogma took a step back, astonished and a little afraid by the sheer intensity of Spark’s gaze. “Please Dogma, I need to forget.”

Spark’s expression cracked with pain, and Dogma felt all the information starting to click into place; Spark’s overwhelming grief, the self-destructive attitude, his claim that he’d ‘lost everything’. Dogma had felt that this was no ordinary loss, and he’d been right. It was so much worse than that. And while Spark and Tye’s relationship was abhorrent and plain _wrong_ , not to mention strictly against regulations, it felt worse to report him in this state.

“I… I don’t know…”

Spark threw his head back, “You are _useless_ , you know that? Prattling off the regs all day every day ‘til brothers want to tear off their own ears, but you can’t do this _one thing_ that might actually _help-_ ”

The door slid open and they both froze, the bright lights from the medbay shining in and Brent looking at them with a raised eyebrow. No one spoke for a second, and Brent cleared his throat.

“Everything alright in here, fellas? One of my patients heard a bit of commotion going on.”

Spark straightened and turned to face the medic. “Sorry sir, I was just checking up on Dogma here; we were on Kamino together. Got into a bit of an argument, but it’s all good.”

Brent glanced at the two of them, and Dogma maintained a neutral expression. “Well, I’ve got no problem with letting off a bit of steam, but you can’t be in here trooper, it’s for the medbay patients only.”

“Sorry sir, I wasn’t aware,” Spark replied. Dogma grit his teeth and hobbled past him, thankful that Brent’s presence meant that he couldn’t stop him. The door slid closed behind him and Dogma hurried to the safety of his cot, mind reeling as he processed what had just happened. What the actual _fuck_ was that? Spark had thanked him, insulted him, confessed that he had engaged a strictly illegal activity, pleaded for Dogma to report him, and then insulted him again.

All in the span of under ten minutes.

Leaning his crutches up against the wall, Dogma collapsed onto his cot and closed his eyes, completely overwhelmed. The sanctity of the medbay showers was ruined forever now. Heavy footsteps passed him, and Dogma’s thoughts drifted to Spark and Tye; how close they would sit in the mess area on Kamino, the quiet conversations shared off the main group. To his horror, his imagination then conjured up scenes of more intimate moments, of calloused hands on brown skin and stuttered breaths against wet lips-

Dogma pressed his palms to his eyes, forcing the images to leave his mind. _Why_ had Spark had to tell him this? He would never want to know of such depravity, not even to report it. Everyone knew the rule, but Dogma had only ever heard of a couple troopers engaging in sexual activity, he never even considered that it also could be done by people he _knew_. It was one of the Kaminoans most sacred and important regulations.

Letting his hands fall from his face, Dogma took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. Maybe his thoughts would be more coherent after he was well rested.

* * *

An hour or so later, or so he thought, a quiet rustling from beside his cot startled him awake. Rubbing a hand across his face, Dogma made eye with a guilty looking Hardcase, clutching the sabacc cards in one hand and his bucket in the other.

“Uh, sorry Dogma,” he smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just getting these.”

“No,” Dogma yawned, eyes heavy lidded. “I was just… waking up anyway.”

“Oh okay, you wanna play then?”

Heart leaping in delight, Dogma nodded. He shuffled into a sitting position, resting his injured leg out straight against the side of the cot and blinking quickly to properly clear his vision. Hardcase grinned at him and lifted himself up, managing to sit cross-legged even with the bulky armour, and began setting out the cards. Glancing around, Dogma saw that their chatting hadn’t disturbed the other injured troopers from their slumber.

“You still remember the rules?” he teased. Dogma scoffed, rolling his eyes, but the piece of flimsy burned against his hip. “Man,” he suddenly exclaimed. “That friend of yours, Spark, was on the warpath earlier. Rex had to give him an earful after he stomped down the hallways like a cranky cadet.”

Dogma paled, their previous conversation and the confessions that entailed springing to mind. “Was there a reason why?” he rasped. Spark was already self-destructive, if he was angry enough with Dogma he could try and bring him down with him.

“Don’t think so,” Hardcase shrugged, finishing the setup. “He was just given latrine duties as far as I’m aware. You know, he’s a lot different than I remember him being when we first met you lot.”

“Yeah,” Dogma muttered, keeping his eyes on his hands. He was… conflicted with the Spark situation, and sleeping hadn’t made things any clearer. On the one hand, Spark had gone against a strict regulation where the penalty was either reconditioning or occasionally being decommissioned. That alone spoke of its seriousness. But on the other hand… Tye was dead. Spark was no longer breaking any rules, he just _wanted_ to be punished for past behaviour, riling Dogma up to try and get him to do what he wanted.

Was it even a punishment if the offender wanted it to happen? Didn’t that defeat the purpose? Or was it not his job at all to consider the effectiveness of a punishment, just simply to report it?

The ache between his brows was beginning to return, and Dogma took a slow, quiet breath to try and soothe the growing headache. When he looked up, Hardcase was watching him curiously.

“You alright?” he asked, and Dogma felt his face heat with embarrassment. He’d forgotten momentarily that he had an audience.

“Yeah, uh,” Dogma scrambled for a plausible explanation. “Just nervous… about tomorrow. I want to walk normally again, but I’m a bit concerned that there’ll be some lasting damage. That I might not be able to continue as a soldier.” Dogma managed to hold back a cringe at that, immediately thankful he was sitting opposite Hardcase and not Tup. While what he’d said was true, Tup would’ve seen straight through him; he knew Dogma would never voluntarily voice his personal worries without significant prompting.

Hardcase just nodded, brows drawing together in concentration as he contemplated Dogma’s words. Dogma couldn’t stop his lips from twitching at the sight; Hardcase’s earnest attitude was seriously endearing.

“Hmm, that’s a tough one. Your medic said he expected you to make a full recovery?” he asked, and Dogma nodded. “Well then you’ve got to trust that, I reckon. Kix has threatened to kick my ass so many times if I don’t follow his treatment plans, and you know what? He’s right every time. If your medic thinks you’ll be okay, nine times outta ten you will be. I can be there, if you’d like?”

Surprised by the offer, Dogma quickly shook his head. “No that’s okay, you guys will be preparing for Mirial.”

“That’s later in the day. I can stop by earlier, it’s no problem,” Hardcase grinned and Dogma just stared at him, heart fluttering in his chest. Blaming Spark for rattling him so bad, Dogma couldn’t help the words that spilt out of his mouth.

“I… I don’t understand. Why are you being so nice to me?”

There was a pause as Dogma registered how pathetic he sounded, but Hardcase threw his head back and snorted out laugh. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, eyes crinkling in humour. “Maybe I just think you’re funny.”

“I am not _funny_ ,” Dogma spluttered, offended at the very thought. Hardcase snickered into his hand. “Stop it, you’re just making fun of me now.”

“You’re the one who offended me, idiot,” Hardcase grinned and smacked Dogma’s hand with a couple of cards. “Insulting my character like that, like I need some sort reason to be a gift to the galaxy.”

Dogma rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help matching the smile on Hardcase’s face, his worries about Spark and his own leg returning to the back of his mind.

“Anyway, can we start this game now? I wanna see if you remember anything that I taught you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give. Me. CONFLICT. This chapter was such a blast to write. 
> 
> I know many will have picked the reveal with Spark, but I'd love to hear from anyone who didn't!
> 
> Also the oneshot of Chapter 8 from Tup's perspective will be uploaded soon, likely at the same time as the next chapter for this story.


	10. Trust

Today was the day.

Brent had given him a cheerful thumbs up that morning when he passed Dogma’s cot; a promise of what was to come. It was odd, in the last few weeks he had been buzzing to start walking again, excited for the prospect of rejoining his brothers back in training and on the frontlines, but now he could only feel dread swirling around in his stomach. Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned anything to Hardcase yesterday, speaking of his concerns only made them more real.

Another hour passed and Hardcase hadn’t arrived yet. Brent had been flittering around the medbay, tools in hand, shooting raised eyebrowed looks at Dogma every time as if to ask if he was ready yet, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. The next time he swept past, the same stupid look on his face, Dogma rolled his eyes and gestured him over.

“Will you stop that?” he grumbled to the medic. This time Brent was carrying a small black crutch, practically a walking stick, in his arms.

“Stop what?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing, it’s annoying.”

“What, this?” Brent asked, opening his eyes comically wide. Dogma just scowled at him, his back leaning against the headboard. “I can’t help it, I’m excited for you. Seeing patients recover is the best thing about being a medic.”

A flicker of guilt swam in his mind, and Dogma dropped his head. “Right… I didn’t realise. I’m just not sure what to expect.”

“You’re alright,” Brent patted his arm. “I’ll tell you then: we’ll get you out of this bandage, the majority of the healing will be complete, and I’ll slip a compression sleeve around your leg and foot. No boots today, but we’ll have this.”

Brent raised the small black stick, and Dogma looked at it warily. _Please not another crutch_.

“You’ll use this to assist with walking for today and tomorrow, not really for the pain but more for the stiffness in your joints and skin, and then you’ll be able to move to walking and running in no time.”

Dogma nodded, taking in the information. “Will I still be staying in the medbay?”

“No,” Brent replied. “You’ll be moving to general berthing today. I’ll give you more instructions on that later, most of your rehabilitation will be self-conducted.”

Before Dogma could reply, the medbay doors slid open and Hardcase walked in, bucket clasped against his hip. Just at the sight of him, eyes crinkling as he smiled, Dogma could feel the heavy weight on his chest beginning to lift. He returned the smile with a quirk of his lips.

“Hardcase, is it?” Brent asked when he reached Dogma’s cot. Hardcase nodded and placed his bucket down on the floor beside the larger crutches. “You ever seen a severe burn before?”

Dogma blanched.

“No, I don’t think so…” Hardcase hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve seen someone _being_ burned, does that count?”

“Not really-”

“Wait, _no_.” Dogma hissed, getting their attention. He glanced at Hardcase quickly before sending Brent a panicked look. “Brent, I don’t want Hardcase to see…”

The medic simply raised an eyebrow, “I assumed that’s why you asked him to be here, Dogma.”

There was an awkward silence as Dogma realised how ridiculous he sounded, and he clenched the faded linen on the cot in his hand. But Hardcase didn’t seem to mind.

“I can just go if you’d like, doesn’t bother me.”

He didn’t want that either. He wanted Hardcase _here_. It was a disturbing realisation to find that he was becoming so attached to another trooper, almost reliant on them, but not even the growing embarrassment at his general patheticness could make him send Hardcase away.

Dogma cleared his throat, “No it’s fine.”

Brent eyed him for a second and then rolled up his pantleg. “Alright, I’ll need you to take a good look at the wound, Dogma. I’m not going to be able to monitor your rehab, so you’ll need to learn to do a lot of this yourself.”

“Why?” Dogma asked, cringing as Brent started to unwrap the thick bandage, the movement pulling slightly on his tender skin. _Gods, I don’t want to look_.

“I’ll be going to Mirial, gotta stretch my legs a bit,” he grinned. “Anyway, I’ll show you what you’re looking at, but when you’ve gotten used to the massaging and stretching, you can just do it through the sleeve. Alright…”

The rush of cool air and Hardcase’s accompanying low whistle meant the bandage was removed, and he took a quick peek. Bile rose in his throat at the sight and he whipped his head to the side, sweat gathering at the back of his neck. The wound was angry and red, travelling from just above his knee to the top of his foot, encompassing the whole front of his leg. Splotches of dark purple and raised ridges of skin were the most disturbing part, and it made him feel sick that this was _his leg._ This deformed, disgusting limb was attached to _his body_.

Dogma knew he should feel grateful, it was a miracle his leg looked as good as it did so early into his recovery, but the wound was morphing into the grotesque image of melting flesh he saw on Thyferra and the burning sensation that ripped him apart. Ears buzzing, he could make out the dull sound of stuttered gasps as he became lightheaded, squeezing his eyes shut to conceal the blurriness.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder, thumb digging into the muscle above his collarbone, and the strength of it grounded Dogma. The buzzing gradually reduced and he realised with a flash of horror that the distressed gasping sounds were coming from _him_.

He’d never live this down.

_Get it together, idiot._

He forced his breathing to slow and opened his eyes, the pristine white walls of the medbay spinning significantly less than before. Hardcase was beside him, hand still gripping his shoulder tightly, his eyes wide with concern. Dogma fought the urge to close his eyes again and let the embarrassment swallow him whole.

“Sorry,” he choked out, looking away from both of them as his face grew hot.

“Burns are exceptionally traumatic, Dogma. Most troopers react the same way when they see the wound for the first time, it’s completely normal and nothing to be ashamed of.”

_I am not ‘most troopers’_ , Dogma thought and grit his teeth. Mustering all his strength, he looked back down at the recovering burn. This time, it was almost a relief. It was mangled and hideous, yes, but it wasn’t grotesque. And it would only get better from here.

Dogma swallowed, “Why is there purple?”

Brent eyed him for a second, and Dogma couldn’t help but let his gaze drift to the medic’s own scar. “The purple is actually a good sign, considering those areas were black when you first came in here.” Dogma blanched at that, but Brent continued. “Okay, I need you to look where I’m pointing. Here and here is where I want you to massage for fifteen minutes each morning and night, and whenever you can fit it in throughout the day, but those two are the most important.”

Keeping his face blank, Dogma watched the medic’s demonstration, the sensation of Brent’s fingers pressing on his tender skin uncomfortable but not painful. The warm hand on his shoulder remained, steady and safe, and a tiny, selfish part of Dogma’s mind ached for the hand to be clutching his own instead. He shook off the feeling and refocused on the medic.

“For the next week you’ll need to do it religiously, but then for a month after that you can alternate between morning and night. This’ll stop the limb becoming stiff and preventing you from walking and running. It’s really important that you follow these instructions, Dogma, they’re imperative to making a full recovery.”

Dogma nodded, feeling his shoulder jostle slightly. “Dogma’s good at following the rules,” Hardcase said, breaking his silence. From anyone else it would sound like an insult, like he was being mocked, but from Hardcase it made him swell with happiness.

“That’s for sure,” Brent smiled. “Alright, hop down and you’ll get a feel for the weight-bearing.”

Swinging his legs over the side of the cot, he stretched down with his left foot until it hit the cool flooring. Hardcase let go of his shoulder as he gingerly brought his right foot down to meet it, grabbing the small crutch from Brent’s outstretched hand. Dogma could feel his leg starting to spasm under the pressure of his body weight and pressed the crutch harder into the floor. Just from having his injured foot flat against the floor, he could already feel the strain of muscles and tightness of his skin.

“Feel alright?” Brent asked, watching his leg closely. The pantleg of his fatigues was still holding above his knee.

“Yes,” Dogma replied, a little breathless. Thankfully, he hadn’t been hit with another dizzy spell. “Just feels… tight.”

“That’s normal,” Brent said. “You’ve got a whole lot of scar tissue already forming, which is what makes the limb feel stiff and tight. We can’t stop it from happening, but we can stop it from becoming debilitating; that’s what the massages and stretches are for. You wanna try walking?”

Dogma glanced at Hardcase, who was watching him quietly, and nodded. _Gods, please don’t let me fall on my face_. Using the walking stick to bear half of the weight, he took a few careful steps forward in the direction of the medbay ‘freshers. His skin stretched uncomfortably and his leg ached, but with each step the symptoms lessened slightly. With each step, he could feel his mood improving, elation bubbling in his chest. He turned back to Brent and Hardcase and smiled.

They both grinned back.

He shuffled back over to them, stride still stilted and uneven but at least he was _walking_. Hardcase whacked him on the back, and to his embarrassment, Dogma found himself wishing that he would hug him again instead.

“Great work Dogma, after tomorrow you won’t even need the walking stick.” Brent said, pulling out a datapad. “Alright… done, done, done… oh, you’re armour is back in the barracks, by the way.”

“I can wear it again?” Dogma asked, hopeful.

“Yep, just make sure you wear the compression sleeve under your blacks as much as possible. Only take it off for massaging and showering.” Brent replied, and then frowned at something on the datapad. “Ah yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you this… it’s been bothering me for a while. How old are you?”

Dogma blinked, surprised. “Oh, I’m nine standard years, biologically eighteen and four months.”

“ _Nine_?” Hardcase yelped. “Gods, you’re practically a _baby_!”

Dogma scowled at him.

“I am _not_ a _baby_.”

“I had a feeling you were younger,” Brent interrupted, regaining their attention. “Some of your bloodwork was a tiny bit off from what I’m used to seeing. I’ve never treated a trooper so young, except as a cadet of course.”

Dogma shrugged, not seeing what the big deal was. “Me, Tup, Spark and… uh, another trooper all turned nine just before we got sent to Torrent.”

“Wait,” Brent paused, closing his eyes briefly. “Are you telling me they sent _nine-year-old_ rookies straight to _Torrent_. What the fuck was Rex thinking?”

“What- it’s an _honour-_ ”

“Fives was _not_ happy,” Hardcase interrupted him. Dogma huffed unhappily. “Got himself a real dressing down from Rex for his rant. The order came from Kamino though, nothing he could do about it. I didn’t realise you guys were _nine_ though.”

“One year doesn’t make that much of a difference,” Dogma said, hurriedly continuing when he saw Brent suck in a breath to begin a lecture. “Anyway, I’ll head back to the barracks now, get my armour back on.”

He started shuffling in the direction of the door, Hardcase following closely behind, before stopping and turning back around. Brent had looked after him so well, treating his wounds and dealing with his bullshit, it was because of him that Dogma was walking again now.

“Uh… thanks Brent, for everything.”

The medic beamed at him, scar stretching tightly over his lips. “Just doing my job. I’m looking forward to seeing your full recovery when you join us on Mirial.”

Dogma nodded respectfully and exited the medbay, the relief of finally moving to a significant stage of his recovery washing over him. Hardcase stepped to his side as they made their way to the general berthing, and not even troopers sparing his limping form a second glance could dissolve Dogma’s happiness. Reaching the door of the bunkroom, Hardcase turned to face him and settled a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve gotta meet Jesse and Fives in a second, so I’ll leave you here,” he smiled, and at this close distance Dogma could admire the way the skin around his eyes crinkled endearingly. “I’m really happy for you, Dogma. I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Swallowing his racing heartrate, Dogma reached up to touch Hardcase’s elbow as an acknowledgement of the affectionate gesture. “Thanks, Hardcase. And thanks for… before.”

“It’s no problem,” Hardcase replied, giving his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “You’re gonna have the gnarliest fucking scar, it’ll be so awesome.”

_No one will ever see it if I can help it_ , Dogma thought, but he knew Hardcase was trying to be kind, so he sent him a tight smile. Hardcase said a quick ‘see ya’ and hurried off down the hallway, his boots clicking against the durasteel flooring. Dogma watched him leave for a second, warmth blossoming in his chest, before turning to enter the berthing.

The elated feeling didn’t last long.

Just as he walked into the room, another trooper exited the adjoining ‘fresher, and Dogma stilled when he recognised them. It was like someone had dumped a bucket of water on his head, snuffing out the warmth and his happiness.

When Spark made eye contact with him, the two just stared at each other; panicked yet challenging. Dogma had not breathed a word of what Spark had told him, hadn’t even allowed himself to think of it. But now, staring at the current source of his anxiety, Dogma was overcome with resentment. He knew he wasn’t the most observant trooper around, but it had become clear to him what Spark had been attempting to do.

He’d been trying to manipulate him.

Riling him up with insults in order to get him so mad he’d immediately report his misconduct to Captain Rex. Yes, he felt sorry for Spark and his disturbed way of thinking, but he was also _angry_. Spark had no right to put him in this position. He had no right to burden him with his depravity.

Narrowing his eyes, he sent Spark one final glare before limping towards a cardboard box on a bottom bunked labelled ‘DOGMA’. Seeing his armour stacked neatly inside nearly brought a tear to his eye, and he set about quickly getting changed and pulling on the compression sleeve. The thought of Spark watching him made his skin prickle with unease, but he quickly dispelled that notion; Spark had engaged in activity that the regulations described as ‘perverted and twisted’, but that didn’t make him a perverted or twisted _individual_.

Just extremely fucking annoying.

And mean.

The full armour looked ridiculous without his boots, with only the black socks protecting his feet, but Dogma couldn’t find it within himself to care. This was where he was supposed to be, this was what he was meant to be wearing. And there was infinite comfort in that.

* * *

The next few days passed by quickly. Hardcase and the others disembarked for Mirial once they’d reached the atmosphere that afternoon, and the eerie quiet of a practically empty cruiser returned again. At least Dogma had been able to continue his rehab in peace, dutifully massaging and stretching his leg and gradually building his strength in walking and then running. The remaining medic, Coric, had even offered to spar with him a couple of times to help sharpen him up before joining the 501st on Mirial.

His leg still ached each morning, half because of the rigorous exercise and half because of the hardening scar tissue, but Dogma tried not to let it bother him.

Because there had been something much, _much_ worse.

Without the distraction of Hardcase, other troopers, or even Brent, Dogma’s time had been taken up by constant rehab. This was not the most stimulating thought process however, so his brain had decided to supplement his boredom with vivid imagery of a much more interesting scenario; Spark and Tye. He knew that other troopers had had sex; he’d overheard enough crude details in the showers of their various exploits to be aware of it, even Tup likely had by now with all that frolicking at 79’s. The thought of it barely registered on his radar, he really couldn’t care any less.

But for some irritating reason, the knowledge that Spark and Tye had been intimate to that capacity had both disturbed and fascinated him. And he couldn’t understand why. Was it his brain’s way of punishing him for not reporting a significant misdemeanour? That would be deserved, he supposed.

It was absolutely driving him up the wall, though. Each night, after hours and hours of exhausting physical activity to rebuild his strength, he’d settle onto his bunk and close his eyes and his vision would fill with the two of them in various states of undress, mouths pressed together in fervent urgency.

It was a living nightmare.

Tonight, in a moment of insanity, he had briefly let it get the better of him. Spark had climbed on top of Tye, his lips fiercely glued to the tender skin just above his collarbone as Tye wove his fingers through his partner’s hair. Flushing, Dogma let the scene drift and the defining features of the two troopers changed. _They could be any one of us; any two clones_ , Dogma thought, heat starting to curl in his stomach. _That could be_ me.

He sprung up from his bunk, stumbling at the sudden rush to his head, and scurried into the ‘fresher. He had never been more grateful for an empty room in his entire life. Palms pressed against the cool tiling of the ‘fresher wall, Dogma let the icy spray pour down his back in an attempt to wash away the shame that had very quickly replaced any feeling of arousal. In that moment, body shaking with a combination of embarrassment and rage, he had never hated anyone as much as he despised Spark.

_I’m losing my fucking mind up here_ , Dogma thought as he dried himself off with a towel. He _needed_ to join the others on the surface; at the very least for his own sanity.

It was late in the evening, but duties on the cruiser ran at all hours, especially those of medics. Dogma slipped on his blacks and armour, taking particular care with the compression sleeve, and marched in the direction of the medbay. To his relief, when he entered through the doors, Coric was awake and administering some pain relief for an injured trooper.

His relationship with Coric wasn’t anything close to what he had with Brent, so he stood to attention when the medic caught his eye. “Sir.”

“Dogma,” Coric replied, and peered closer at him, finishing his fiddling with the patient’s bedside. “Are you needing some meds?”

“No, sir-”

“Oh,” Coric interrupted. “You just look a bit… flustered or something. You sure you’re not in any pain?”

Dogma grit his teeth and clenched his bucket closer to his hip. “No sir, I’m fine. I was wondering if I could be sent to the surface. I have had no lingering pain and the rehabilitation has been going better than planned, I’m back to one hundred per cent fitness.”

A complete lie. His leg still ached every morning and whenever he whacked his shin or strained too hard during training, but that was unimportant. He _needed_ to get off this blasted cruiser, and he was more than willing to lie to a medic to do so.

“That _is_ faster than expected. It’s only been five days since they left, I’m not sure that’s long enough,” Coric paused when he saw Dogma’s expression harden. “Look, from all reports they’ve got everything in complete control down there. The only way I’d risk sending an unripe trooper into a warzone is if the boys were desperate for assistance. They probably won’t be down there any longer than a week anyway.”

Panic began to twist in Dogma’s chest. _No, I can’t stay up here any longer._

“Sir, please, I am completely healthy. It is… it’s _unethical_ to keep me up here when I should be fighting down there.”

Coric stared at him for a second and sighed, “I understand what you’re feeling. There’s a transport leaving in the in an hour to send some recovered troopers down to Mirial, if you can pass a fitness test, I’ll let you join them. But if you can’t pass it, don’t even think about even looking at me for at least another three days.”

Palpable relief washed over him, and Dogma stood even straighter. “I’ll do it.”

And he did do it. Somehow, with every bone in his body feeling like it was a second away from snapping in half and still maintaining a neutral expression through the pain, he passed the test. Coric nodded at him once, datapad in hand, and Dogma picked up his bucket and strode out of the training room. Once he was well clear in the hallway, he sagged and leaned his hand against the cool durasteel wall. His leg was screaming at him for his betrayal, but Dogma could tell that none of the still healing skin had been torn.

It was just… highly strained.

Regaining his composure, he made a quick stop at the weapons room and marched towards the hangar. The pain would calm down eventually, and Dogma was sure his body would be better for it in the long run. He maintained a perfect posture with moderate difficulty when he joined the other 501st troopers in the awaiting gunship, not allowing himself to feel any regret.

Pushing yourself made you stronger, right?

Right.

Besides, there was no way he was staying here on the cruiser one minute longer. A couple of days of extra, avoidable pain was completely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the denial and 'blame everyone else for my problems' stage. 
> 
> First of all, I'm sorry I haven't posted that oneshot that I promised yet, I'm about 80% of the way through it, but I'm just really not happy with it yet for some reason. But I'm working on it.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry this chapter is up later than usual. I've had a bit of a hectic week and this is probably a tmi (but I really need to rant about it), but for some reason there's a shortage of the birth control pill that I take and I can't access it ANYWHERE in Aus, and it's not available until like December or something (I also get bad reactions to the other formulas). How something like this can happen with medication as important as BIRTH CONTROL blows my mind, so I'm a bit mad about it all. If this chapter isn't up to the usual standard I apologise, I might go through and edit it again when I'm a bit less stressed.


	11. Implosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, yes hello all. So sorry for the delay in updates, I've had a few health challenges but I've also just been lazy. Which is no excuse for a story I know exactly how I want to end! Hope you enjoy the new chapter, and just a warning, it's got some elements of self hatred in it.

When the gunship doors opened to signal their imminent landing, Dogma nearly passed out with relief when no discernable difference in temperature could be made through his bucket filtering. The nightmare of Thyferra felt even further away now, with only the frustratingly consistent ache in his leg serving as a niggling reminder. It would be worth it, he knew, to push himself that bit further in order to escape the disturbing thoughts that had consumed him these past few days. Even with his body not at one hundred per cent health, it was his mind that was his current enemy.

The newly recovered troopers filed out of the gunship and Dogma felt the dry ground crunch underneath his boots with each step. Mirial could not be more different from Thyferra; thick jungle was now barren deserts, wet, heavy air and soil was now dry and dusty. It was a pleasant change to say the least.

They approached the groups of 501st troopers, dark green tents set up fifty meters away, and it soon became very apparent that the campaign had been largely uneventful so far. Clones were chatting together jovially, many with their buckets removed and nibbling on ration bars, looking relaxed and at ease. Even their armour was relatively unscathed and clean. It was a jarring sight to see after the previous campaign, some troopers even looked _bored_ , but it was a welcome one.

Dogma had just seen true boring, and what it could do to a man, so this suited him just fine.

A particularly loud guffaw caught his attention, and a smile spread across his concealed face when he identified the source. Hardcase was laughing with Jesse, his bucket in one hand and rotary cannon hanging lazily from the other, and Dogma managed to hurry over to him in a relatively controlled manner. Jesse saw him coming first.

“Ah, Dogma! Was wondering when you’d turn up.”

Hardcase turned and grinned at him, clasping his armoured shoulder in greeting. Dogma’s own smile grew. “Good to see ya, brother. How’s your leg?”

“Good as new,” Dogma lied, removing his helmet though his battle instincts screamed at him to leave it on. Neither of them questioned his answer though, so he counted that as a win.

“Don’t see any point as to why they brought you lot back down here though,” Jesse commented, clutching his bucket to his hip. “There’s absolutely fuck-all happening, I’m not sure I’ve ever been so bored in my life.”

Hardcase snorted at that. “It’s been pretty quiet, yeah. But they probably can’t be leaving healthy troopers up on the cruiser, the Republic wouldn’t like it.”

Dogma nodded eagerly, ignoring the irritating pulsing ache in his leg. “It’s likely that there’s just too many troopers for the job,” he said. “After Thyferra, there wasn’t a chance for other units to disembark.”

They both hummed in agreement, and Dogma started to wish that Jesse would just piss off already.

Unfortunately, he did not. “I don’t blame you lot for wanting to get out of there, rehab is a pain in the ass,” Jesse grinned. “What did you do to amuse yourself, Dogma? Read the new fuel transport manual?”

“That sounds significantly better than nearly blowing up the medbay, you idiot.” Hardcase replied dryly before Dogma could reply. Jesse just shrugged.

“Point me towards a trooper who does well with boredom. Also, that was a complete accident and _you_ are in no position to say anything about blowing shit up.”

Dogma shuffled his feet discreetly, trying to erase the tingling feeling that was beginning to crawl up his injured leg and root itself in his thigh. He seriously hoped this wasn’t what nerve damage felt like. With his bucket off, it was lucky that Jesse and Hardcase were too preoccupied in their argument to notice the discomfort that must be showing at this point. He needed to sit down or do the massages the Brent had taught him. But that wasn’t possible, at least not in front of these two, he was supposed to be one hundred per cent healthy.

“I’m telling you, when we get back to Coruscant, I’m gonna drink myself into the grave. And you’re definitely coming with us this time, Dogma.”

Dogma blinked at Jesse, having only been half listening. “Hm?”

“You nearly died on Thyferra. It’s in the regs that if you come close to death on a campaign, you must then drink your weight in alcohol at the next available opportunity.”

Hardcase snorted and Dogma scowled, “That is _not_ in the regulations.”

“Can you prove it?”

Tired of Jesse’s teasing and tired of hiding the throbbing pain of his leg, Dogma lost any motivation for an argument and simply decided to ignore him. For some reason, Jesse didn’t push it. He just turned back to Hardcase and continued to describe in great detail how much a fool he was going to make of himself when they returned to Coruscant. Dogma tried to let his mind drift into a meditative state where he’d feel no pain and think no uncomfortable thoughts, but he never had the internal peace required for such an endeavour. Honestly, he doubted anyone did. Before he lost grip on what control he had left, he turned to Hardcase and interrupted the two troopers.

“I forgot to check in, where would I find Captain Rex?”

There was a beat of silence where Hardcase just looked at him with raised eyebrows, but his expression quickly settled into a friendly smile. “Rex is with General Skywalker, they’re off doing more scouting of the area. Fives would be your next best bet, he’s just over there,” Hardcase pointed to a group of three troopers around fifty meters away. “But you don’t really need to check in, there’s nothing going on at the moment.”

“Thank you,” Dogma nodded, ignoring the last bit of advice, and set off in the direction of Fives. A mutter of ‘he’s an odd one’ caught his hearing as he strode away, but Dogma couldn’t bring himself to care. With frustrated vigour, he shoved his bucket down over his head and let his face fall into a painful grimace behind its protection. The tingling had given way to stabs of pain, and Dogma prayed it was just an overworked muscle.

Fives was standing with Tup and another trooper Dogma did not know. His bucket was clipped to his hip and his stance was one of supreme confidence; relaxed posture, chin slightly raised, and a carefree grin plastered on his face while he listened to the unknown trooper speak. It seemed the only emotion that could break through the haze of pain in Dogma’s mind was burning jealousy.

His stride stuttered for a moment, but he shook his head slightly and maintained his course. Hardcase was right that there was clearly not much to do on this campaign, but Dogma was part of Torrent Company. The _elite_. He couldn’t be seen lazing around after suffering a serious injury, they’d think he was defective or psychologically scarred. He, more than anyone, needed to be following procedure right now.

Tup spotted him first, stared at him with a mixture of fear and guilt, and then looked away.

_Well. Not ideal._ But Dogma was in too much pain to care about what he’d done to offend Tup this time, perhaps it was just his general presence, and stood to attention in the direction of Fives.

“Sir, I’ve come to check in. The medical shuttle just arrived with the recovered troopers. Is there anything you’d have me do, sir?”

“Good to see you back, Dogma,” Fives replied with an easy smile. “We’re just waiting for the scouting report from Rex and General Skywalker, but it’s looking like the campaign won’t be necessary for more than a few more days. I’m sure the boys have told you it’s been pretty uneventful so far.”

Dogma nodded, flicking his gaze towards Tup for a second before refocusing back on the ARC trooper. Fives couldn’t see his face, but it was important to remain consistently respectful in the presence of a superior. But from that quick glance, Dogma knew that Tup still wasn’t looking at him.

“There’s not much I can give you to do at the moment,” Fives continued, not appearing to notice the tension. “Just take a breather and be ready for when they return.”

Dogma had no idea what a ‘breather’ was but took it as an opportunity to escape from Tup’s awkwardness, Hardcase’s knowing glances and Fives’ self confidence and just wallow in his own pain and stupidity. As he sat against a rock under the partial shade of a limp tree, his leg stretched out, bucket over his head and watching troopers mill around under the beaming sun, he realised this wasn’t much better than being on the cruiser at all. At least he wasn’t in pain up there.

He immediately corrected that thought. _Anything_ was better than being trapped in his own mind and betrayed by his own thoughts in that lonely place.

Inside the comfort of his bucket, he let the soft sound of his filtered breathing wash over him. He watched the troopers, his brothers, throw playful punches and laugh with one another. They were happy and relaxed, probably like Jesse they were also planning their next late-night shenanigans in some seedy bar. And Dogma knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that what Spark had confessed to him in that medbay ‘fresher had changed him. Something had been opened his mind that could not be closed, and it scared him. Without the distractions of command or an intense campaign, Dogma could be left to his own thoughts, and his thoughts couldn’t look at his fellow troopers in the same way again.

Like him, they were all lean and strong. There were some aberrations of course, but most also had brown skin and dark eyes. How could he look at men so like him and see himself like how he imagined Spark and Tye? Even thinking of it now; of calloused hands pressed on burning skin and the stuttered breathing of an indistinguishable but familiar form, on some dust-bucket planet in the middle of nowhere, gave him goosebumps on the back of his neck. What was _wrong_ with him?

A renewed fire of hatred burned inside again, and he grit his teeth as he thought of what Spark had done to him. What he’d sentenced him to. How would they look at him, if they knew? Tup, Fives, Jesse, Kix, Brent? Hardcase would never speak to him again, that’s for sure. His lip would curl in disgust at the mention of his name; Dogma, the trooper who felt an attraction towards his own brothers.

They wouldn’t just decommission him.

They’d burn him.

The filtered breaths weren’t slow and relaxing anymore. The sound of wheezing gasps echoed around his head in a panic and Dogma had to rip off his bucket to empty the contents of his stomach on the dry wisps of grass beside him. Chest convulsing, he dry-heaved twice more before resting his head on his bucket in his lap, exhausted. A sinking feeling of shame washed over him, and he blinked back the tears that were prickling at the corner of his eyes.

It all felt so _unfair_.

With shaking hands, he pulled his bucket back over his head and looked up. No one was looking at him, no one had noticed his mini breakdown. Time went on and no one knew he’d had a huge moment of weakness and despair.

Dogma was relieved.

Later that evening, when many troopers were resting or on duty, Dogma finally had some time to himself to inspect the damage done to his wound. Having removed the pieces of armour on his leg, he rolled up the fabric of his blacks and unwound the compression bandage. It… wasn’t as bad as he had initially thought.

His leg looked angry. Angry at him most likely. Dogma didn’t blame it; he was angry at himself too.

But the skin wasn’t broken or oozing or hanging on by a thread. Apart from the healing scars, which were discoloured and misshapen as always, the leg was just slightly swollen and red. A thought registered in the back of his mind that the real damage was likely internal, but he dismissed it. At least if Brent inspected him at some point, his leg visibly passed as being mostly okay.

After the observation, Dogma began the tiresome massaging process. While each press into the skin and strain of muscle was more painful than ever, it was followed by a softening sensation, to the point where he could physically feel his muscles relaxing. Once again, he sent a silent thank you to his dear medic. Maybe today wasn’t really the end of the world, there was a chance that _something_ was going right for him.

* * *

A couple of days passed and to Dogma’s eternal relief the images and dreams indeed stopped. He had implemented a strong ‘no-go zone’ in his mind that applied to anything that remotely related to The Spark Incident. Whenever the thoughts would threaten to arise, he replaced them with imagery of burning pyres, and soon enough they gave way to nausea. So far, burying uncomfortable thoughts in the back of his mind and pretending they weren’t there was going great. In fact, everything was going quite well; he was spending more and more time with Hardcase, he’d managed to completely avoid interacting with Spark altogether, and the pain in his leg had transitioned from a constant ache to a dull throb.

Tup still looked at him slightly longer than what was normal, but Dogma accepted that not everything could be good.

He had been dutifully massaging the recovering limb each night out of the view of the other troopers, and thankfully that had helped with the pain, but it still wasn’t as strong as just before the fitness test. At this stage, it wasn’t of any concern. And he repeated that mantra every time he spoke to Brent and the medic asked for updates about his condition.

_He can’t read my mind_ , Dogma would remind himself when Brent asked if he’d suffered any setbacks, his gaze so piercing Dogma nearly felt himself confess everything out of pure fear. But the medic never pushed it, just eyeballed him and nodded. There was no doubt in his mind that Brent knew he was lying, but he must have assessed through observing Dogma that it wasn’t bad enough to kick his ass.

Eventually, the campaign wound up. He was only planet-side for two nights before the call was made, it was easily going to be the most straightforward campaign that he’d ever be on. The relatively mild Separatist threat had been eradicated and the Mirialian locals were safe for the time being. And to the joy of Jesse and Hardcase, General Skywalker, and therefore Torrent Company, they were to return to Coruscant as soon as possible on order of the Chancellor. The rest of the 501st units would rendezvous with the Legions that needed them. It meant a lot less troopers around that he didn’t know, but it also meant that it was goodbye to Brent. Kix and Coric were Torrent Company’s medics, so Brent was no longer required to treat him.

It was a more painful thought than he had expected.

When it was nearly time to disembark from the planet and return to the main cruiser, where he knew it would be highly impractical to hold personal conversations with troopers from different units, he sought Brent out. The scarred medic was kneeling on the ground, concluding his treatment of a trooper who’s side had been grazed by blaster fire, and he did not look up at Dogma until the injured man was fully dressed in his armour.

Eventually the man was on his way and Brent rose to his feet, pulling off his bucket and giving Dogma a quick smile. “What can I do for ya, Dogma? Ready to finally admit you need some extra treatment on that blasted leg?”

Dogma tried to scowl but couldn’t bring himself to make the expression. He realised he was going to miss that uneven quirk of lips and sharp, dark eyes a whole lot.

“No,” he sniffed. “I just wanted to wish you luck on your next campaign.”

“Hmm, yes, it could be my last, I suppose.”

This time Dogma really did scowl, “Don’t say that.”

“I’ve been around for a fair while, you know,” Brent said, and Dogma couldn’t understand why a simple goodbye was turning into a dramatic soliloquy. “I see troopers younger than me die all the time, I’ve treated a brother who was only biologically eighteen,” he winked at Dogma. “And yet I’m still here.”

“You’re a medic, it’s your job to stay alive and treat others,” Dogma played along, confused by this unexpected turn of events. At closer inspection, Brent looked weary, lacking any of his usual energy. Even his scar seemed to be pulling at his mouth with greater aggression. What had happened on such an uneventful campaign?

“Yes, but after a while it all seems a bit unfair, that I’m here and they’re not,” he sighed. “I’d much rather someone like you gets to live, so you can become just as old and jaded as I am.”

“If you knew me well enough, you wouldn’t have said that,” Dogma replied dully, kicking at dust on the arid ground.

But Brent just set those probing eyes on him, “I know a lot more about you than you realise, medics are always more observant than you regular idiots. And I stand by what I said.”

Dogma had frozen in surprise, but immediately relaxed. There was _no way_ that Brent knew about his secret, not even a madman would have it cross his mind. It was just that improbable of an idea. But – fear gripped his heart again - it was _Brent_ that had interrupted he and Spark’s argument in the medbay ‘fresher. Maybe he had heard, and then seen something in Dogma’s behaviour…

No, it was impossible.

“Well,” Dogma swallowed down any panic. “I’ll still wish you luck on your next campaign, even if you don’t want it.”

Feeling bold, perhaps from simmering adrenalin after Brent’s previous statement, he held out his hand. Brent did not hesitate to grip it and for a second Dogma had a soaring hope that if the medic did in fact know his secret, he was at least not afraid to touch him.

“Take care of yourself, Dogma,” Brent said, releasing his hand. “I’m sorry for dumping all that shit on you. I’m just getting old, I think. And tired.”

“Maybe you can request a spell on Coruscant in those medical centers-”

Brent was already shaking his head, “Me taking a break from the field won’t put an end to this sham of a war.”

The allusion to the war being anything other than completely necessary caused the well-trained patriotism inside Dogma to rise in anger, but with an impressive display of self-control, he held his tongue. And he didn’t need to hold it for long; troopers were beginning to march onto the transports in anticipation for their ascent.

He nodded at Brent once, who returned the gesture, and pulled on his bucket. Dread crept up his spine with each stride away from the medic, but whether it was for himself or Brent he didn’t know. The dull roar of the transport engines and rising altitude did nothing to quell the ominous feeling.

Dogma gripped the ceiling cable tighter.

* * *

While most of the 501st settled into the general berthing for some well-earned rest, Dogma had been given an overnight duty to be spent patrolling the hallways. This would have been perfectly fine, although painfully boring, if his assigned partner had not been Tup.

They smiled politely at each other outside the berthing and began their quiet stroll, the sound of boots clicking against durasteel filling the awkward silence. With their buckets clipped to their hips, Dogma could see Tup’s face twitching occasionally out the corner of his eye. He bit back a sigh; that was a classic sign that his batchmate was gearing himself up for something. It wasn’t that Dogma despised him anymore, he was just honestly afraid of what Tup might say, or worse, what _he_ might say. At the least it would explain his strange behaviour on Mirial.

Tup cleared his throat and Dogma managed to contain his wince. “So…” he began. Dogma flicked his gaze towards him, but Tup stared up ahead. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

_That_ was unexpected.

“Uh,” was Dogma’s eloquent reply. Tup stopped walking and moved to lean against the wall, brushing wavy strands of hair from his eyes and hugging his bucket to his chest. Dogma stared at him in confusion, stranded in the middle of the hallway. “What for?”

“Well, a lot of things really. But this is more about recently; I got an old-fashioned lecture the other day.”

Dogma blinked, “Oh… from Brent?”

“Who’s Brent?”

“My medic.”

Tup raised an eyebrow, “ _Your_ medic?”

Dogma sniffed and looked away. Perhaps it was overly sentimental to think of him in that way, but Brent _was_ his medic. Until Tup was seriously injured and reliant on one person for everything, including his return to health and the field, he wouldn’t really understand. On second thought, he hoped that Tup would always remain ignorant.

As if sensing his moodiness, Tup quickly spoke again. “No, it wasn’t this… Brent, it was Hardcase. And it was kinda scary to see him so serious.”

“Hardcase?” Dogma repeated, dumbfounded. “Why?”

Tup sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “He told me I was being a fool, among other things. That you needed me, and I wasn’t there.”

Unsettling anger started to swirl in his belly and Dogma frowned; he didn’t _need_ anybody. Aside from the occasional medical patch up, none of them did. What right did Hardcase have to go assuming his feelings and meddling in his business, and with Tup of all people.

“Well he was mistaken, I’m perfectly fine. And I don’t hold any resentment towards you.”

Tup looked back at him, the tattoo scrunched slightly as his face pinched in awkwardness. “He told me about your injury, that you were not as okay as you were showing-”

Dogma scoffed.

“Oi, shut it, this is important. He told me what he saw… and you know what the worst thing is? What makes me a terrible brother?” Tup pulled at a curled strand in distress. “I _knew_ it too. I know you; I know what you’re like, and I knew you weren’t okay. But I ignored it.”

The anger quickly dissipated. Dogma watched Tup, unsure how to reply to such a confession.

“He was right, and I’m sorry.”

Seconds passed and Dogma shook himself from his stupor, moving to rest against the wall beside Tup. Leaning his head back, the feeling of the cool metal through his short hair grounded him.

“I didn’t think any less of you,” Dogma began, his gaze steadily focused on a scratch in the opposite durasteel wall so as to give Tup some time to regather himself. Tup was an emotional person by nature, but it was never easy to say you made a mistake. He knew that better than anyone. “You don’t have anything to apologise for-”

“Just accept that I’m saying sorry, idiot.” Tup interrupted, his voice scratchy but no longer carrying that uncomfortably weary tone.

“Okay,” Dogma replied quietly.

They could leave it at that; Tup wasn’t looking at him with disdain anymore and they could both happily move on. Brothers again. But that wouldn’t be right, especially when his old friend had just made such an effort. He couldn’t let this moment go to waste. He clenched his fists and steeled himself, suddenly becoming aware of the dry, moisture sucking air on the cruiser and licked his lips.

“I’m- I’m the one who needs to apologise. For what I said about Tye, for what I said about _you_. For whatever I say in the future.”

There was a pause, and Dogma felt weeks of tension fall from his shoulders.

Tup snorted, “You’ll say plenty, I’m sure. It’s okay, Dogma, I know you weren’t being malicious. It’s just that, well, you make me a bit mad sometimes.”

That was unavoidable at this stage, but they both knew that now.

“I wish I didn’t,” he turned his head and Tup immediately mirrored the action.

Theoretically, all clones should look exactly the same, but Tup’s eyes had always held a certain brightness that Dogma hadn’t ever seen before, not on any other clone and certainly not when he looked in the mirror. He saw an excitement for all the possibilities in their short lives, something that the war hadn’t yet been able to snuff out and something that Dogma hadn’t realised he’d missed until now. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away. “I wish I wasn’t like this, but I can’t help it. The regulations are important to me, it’s just who I am.”

Tup smiled, “No you don’t.”

Dogma glanced back at him and frowned. “What?”

“You don’t really wish you weren’t like this.”

Well, that was mostly true, Dogma supposed.

They sat in silence for a minute, the dull roar of the engines a reminder that they actually had a job to do. As if reading his mind, Tup removed himself from the wall and reached for his bucket. For a moment, Dogma was overwhelmed with the urge to tell Tup his secret, to ask for advice from someone he trusted. Frozen in place and heart racing in his chest, he watched Tup adjust his bucket and turn back to face him.

_TELL HIM!_ Dogma’s mind screamed, but he couldn’t form the words. _Tup would know what to do, he’d know what’s wrong with me. And he probably wouldn’t report me either_. But it was that ‘probably’, and the inevitable embarrassment, that stopped him.

“You alright, Dogma?” Tup tilted his head to the side, and Dogma was thankful that he couldn’t see his questioning expression. They had just gotten things back to being a little better than okay, it would ruin everything to expose his depraved thoughts to Tup now. He’d think Dogma disgusting, a freak, a pervert. Certainly not someone to spend any time with whatsoever.

Dogma cleared his throat and shoved his bucket down over his head. “Yes, just a bit tired is all.”

Tup tilted his head to the side, and if Dogma could see his face, he knew it would be scrunched in confusion. “Alright then,” Tup said, his hesitation clear.

It was just his luck that Tup would start giving a damn about him again when he was at his most vulnerable. But, matching his batchmate’s strides down the corridor, Dogma couldn’t find it in himself to be truly mad about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not clear, Dogma knows he has an attraction towards other clones. But his subconscious hasn't let him put any distinguishable traits to his imagination. It's the form of a clone, but he doesn't want to think of anyone in particular (which is why he can still talk to other clones as if nothing is wrong). I like me some angst, but with the way I've written him, Dogma would have a full on breakdown if that happened so early in his realisation.


	12. Belonging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another reminder: please be aware of the tags, they are accurate.

Coruscant was still just as fascinating as the last time Dogma set foot in the busy city. Looming buildings and bright lights, so many different species, some more frightening looking than others, and so many different colours. And there was always something happening; just two minutes ago he had to sidestep a young human couple who were tossing tubs of food at each other, their argument gradually reaching screaming level. Again, it was a fascinating planet, but Dogma was glad he didn’t spend much time here.

Nevertheless, he was currently on a solo expedition of sorts; a highly thrilling walk in a one kilometer loop from the barracks, just for something different to do. He was saving his ridiculous romance book for tonight when the inevitable invite to 79’s came, but he knew he needed a credible excuse if the glint in Jesse’s eyes was anything to go by.

Dressed in his dull civvies, Dogma walked the streets with a purpose he did not feel. Civilians, well those who weren’t clearly engaging in day-drinking, recognised him as a clone almost immediately. This was expected. What wasn’t expected was the wary looks they gave him as he passed, along with the avoidance of eye contact. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and the adventurous loop became less of an intriguing insight into civilian life and more a chore he couldn’t wait to finish.

Why did they look at him in that way? Why were they fearful of him?

They knew the Republic was protecting them; Coruscant was the safest city to live during the war, life went on here as normal. And he was a part of the reason they were so protected. Where they this cautious the last time he was here? Or had he not been paying attention?

Every prolonged glance only enhanced his paranoia, and he was becoming painfully aware of the fact that he was currently unarmed and unprotected. Only a thin layer of fabric was protecting any one of these mistrusting civilians from blasting a hole through his chest and letting him bleed out on the pavement. He knew he was being ridiculous, but life had been unfair to him lately so he wasn’t taking any chances. A neon blue ‘OPEN’ caught his eye and he blindly slipped into the unknown building.

The door rang and a man behind the wooden counter looked up. The small room was dimly lit, only the natural light from outside was providing any visibility, and aside from a few faded red booths lining the walls and the four stools seated at the counter, the was very little sitting space. Dogma had obviously stepped into a bar of some kind, the kind being particularly seedy. Luckily, it was currently the middle of the day and there were only a couple of customers present, with only one other being visibly conscious. He shuffled forward towards the counter, avoiding the curious eyes of the human bartender behind it. He was short and wide, with a scraggly beard and surprisingly well-kept dark hair. He didn’t break his gaze with Dogma until he sat down on the stool in front of him.

“Don’t see you lot here very often,” was the man’s gruff introduction. Dogma ignored a young male Togruta at the other end of the bar who was watching him closely. “What can I get you to drink?”

Right, well, he supposed he couldn’t just sit here without buying something. Dogma reached into his pocket for some credits they’d been given for their time on Coruscant.

“Do you have anything non-alcoholic?”

The bartender gave him a flat look, “We have caf.”

“That’ll do fine,” Dogma replied awkwardly, and the man turned to his equipment, muttering to himself. With his excellent hearing, Dogma caught most of it. The bartender was gravely disappointed that he wasn’t putting his alcohol tolerance to good use and buying half the drink in the bar.

Dogma had very little concept of money and prices, so he decided to just pull out the contents of his pockets onto the counter and let the bartender take whatever the caf was worth. It was stupid and probably very naive, but he also just didn’t really care. Money didn’t mean anything to him, he didn’t need it for anything, and he didn’t like the sound of it jingling around in his pants. The only thing he slipped back into his pocket was the sabacc flimsy he was still ridiculously attached to.

The bartender returned with his drink and gave the scattered credits on the chipped counter a long look.

“What the hell is this?”

Dogma let out a frustrated sigh, “Just take whatever I owe.”

The bartender paused for a second, still squinting at the money, before sighing and taking a few credits. He muttered a ‘ _fucking clones_ ’ before nodding and moving away from Dogma’s corner of the bar. Despite being disappointed with how many credits still remained, he returned them to his pockets. Perhaps he would just give some to the civilians he saw lying on the street. Out the corner of his eye, he saw that the Togruta was still watching him. Dogma subtly tried to gauge whether his look was hostile, but the slackened jaw and glassy eyes suggested that he had been at the bar for some time.

The caf tasted like crap, which shouldn’t have surprised him since he hated caf in the first place, but he tried to at least let the warmth of it travelling through his body relax him. He couldn’t understand why Tup loved the stuff so much.

Tup…

Dogma let his thoughts drift to his batchmate. It was odd, the precarious position their friendship was in at the moment, but he had grown to accept that this was probably the best it was going to get. He cared about Tup deeply and they would always be close brothers, but they would likely never be close friends again. Maybe they just never were in the first place. As much as it hurt to admit, Tup needed someone like Fives. Embarrassingly, he had felt disgusted by Tup’s obvious worship of the ARC trooper, but he could see now that that friendship had been good for him.

For one, when was the last time he’d seen Tup overcome with nerves, as he so often used to be?

In his anger and self-loathing over the past few months, he hadn’t even noticed the _good_ changes in Tup. Fives had made him a better soldier and helped him embrace the individuality that Tup had always craved.

Dogma grumbled into his caf.

_I wonder if I’ve changed at all_.

He wasn’t sure he had, and if so, it was definitely not for the best. If anything, he was angrier and more frustrated than he’d ever been. Gods, he was drinking a fucking putrid cup of caf alone in a civilian bar in the middle of the day. Oh, and he was having a sexuality crisis that would get him decommissioned. This was not what he had imagined for himself when he joined Torrent Company.

Thoroughly disappointed in his failures, Dogma sighed and raised his head. The Togruta was still watching him, a refilled glass of ominous black liquid in his hand, but he soon got bored of just staring.

“You’re a clone,” the Togruta slurred, taking a noisy gulp from his glass. Dogma glanced at the bartender before resuming a close gaze on the inebriated male. Anyone who was drinking immediately became unpredictable, and Dogma wasn’t about to let some drunk idiot get the jump on him.

“I am.”

“Hmm. I feel bad for you lot.”

Not what Dogma was expecting, but he nodded all the same and turned back to his caf. The Togruta did not catch the hint.

“You know,” he continued, swaying a little on his stool. “This war is reaaal interesting. You know… you know why? One side is sacrificing human lives, the other is sacrificing spare parts.”

Dogma stared at him, shocked by the randomness and blasphemy of such a statement. But he recovered quickly, “The Republic created us to _protect_ you. We’ve… we’re winning the war because of it!”

“I didn’t ask for innocents to be murdered for my protection,” the Togruta replied. “You’ve been so… so brainwashed by their system that you can’t see it’s inhumane. It’s… it’s war crimes.”

Dogma spluttered, infuriated by the drunk male’s audacity. It was _because_ they were living beings that the GAR had a significant advantage over the droid army, Coruscant would have been overrun otherwise and this idiot would have far more to complain about.

“You’re a Separatist apologist,” Dogma said, his voice low in anger.

“Not really. Many of us on Coruscant have been protesting the use of a clone army for a looong time, and we’re only getting more members as the war goes on. Shockingly, people don’t like murder.”

Scowling, Dogma decided he wasn’t going to listen to this rubbish any longer. The Togruta watched him rise swiftly from the stool with a lazy smile, and Dogma returned his half-lidded stare with a withering glare. The caf was only half finished, the sad brown liquid sloshing in the cup with his sudden movement, but he marched out the bar onto the pavement outside. A couple of civilians looked at him, looked at what building he’d just exited, and then looked away. Dogma fumed.

He stormed back in the direction of the barracks, ignoring any stares. Did all these people think he was some kind of victim? How absolutely embarrassing. The GAR should never be looked at as just a bunch of helpless children, there was a war to win, for fuck’s sake. And soldiers win wars, not droids.

He was so infuriated that he nearly mowed down some poor trooper exiting the 501st’s barracks.

“Oh shit, you alright?” the trooper asked, and Dogma turned to apologise. The signature blue tattoos registered immediately, and a smile tugged on his lips.

“Sorry Hardcase, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Oh, Dogma! I didn’t recognise you without the armour. Where’ve you been?”

Dogma deflated as he remembered why he was mad. “Just around.”

“Ah… I understand,” Hardcase nodded sagely, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, you keep your secrets then.”

Dogma spluttered, “What? There’s no secrets, I just went for a walk-”

“Of course,” Hardcase replied innocently. Dogma glared at him, but he could already feel his mood improving. Hardcase started to move, and Dogma found that he desperately didn’t want to leave his company just yet.

“What- what are you up to?” he asked awkwardly.

“Oh, you know, just going for a walk,” he winked, and Dogma surprised himself by playfully punching his arm. Hardcase returned the gesture immediately and grinned at him. “Actually, I’m thinking of getting another tattoo. You up for it?”

“Up for getting a tattoo?”

“Yeah, without the armour I had no idea who you were. You don’t have to of course, but it makes us feel like individuals, since we can’t all be blond like Rex. I think you’ll like the feeling when you see yourself afterwards.”

Dogma had never cared for individuality. As he had contemplated before, that had been more Tup’s thing, and he had associated that with Tup’s weakness for sentimentality. But there was a practical side, as Hardcase had just demonstrated. What if he was on a campaign and was needed to be identified without his armour? It was unlikely, but unlikely did not mean impossible.

“Alright then,” he replied.

“Really? Awesome, let’s go see Needle.”

Oh right, the tattooing was done by a clone against regulations. But with Hardcase chatting excitedly beside him, Dogma couldn’t bring himself to change his mind. The two of them, wearing identical civvies, strode towards an identical grey building which Dogma assumed to be Ghost Company’s barracks.

“What do you think you’ll get? Mines just a bunch of bullshit really, completely random. But you could go for something more meaningful, like Tup.”

“Like _Tup_?” he asked disbelievingly. How was a teardrop from a drink at 79’s meaningful in any way at all?

“Well yeah. Meaningful can be remembrance of a lost brother, but it can also be from a happy memory. He probably had a good time that night.”

_He did, didn’t he?_ Dogma thought, remembering how cheerful Tup had been during their first time at 79’s. He supposed that made sense. Had Dogma ever really been that happy? Perhaps when Hardcase was teaching him to play sabacc, or when Hardcase had hugged him in the medbay on the Thyferra campaign. Neither of those translated to a viable tattoo though. Plus, it just wasn’t for him to have something so sentimental.

They reached Ghost Company’s barracks and Dogma followed Hardcase inside. It was odd seeing troopers in orange paint, he had grown so used to the blue of the 501st, but the passing men nodded respectfully to them both all the same.

With a name like ‘Needle’ and a reputation for being the best tattoo artist, Dogma had expected him to be covered in ink and at least mildly intimidating. But aside from some intricate designs in the shaved hair above his ears, Needle looked completely unremarkable.

“Hardcase,” he smiled up at them both when they entered the room, his voice lacking the rough timbre of most troopers. Dogma was confused; this was not what he was anticipating at all.

“Hope we haven’t caught you at a bad time, but we have a brother here in need of his first tattoo. It’s an emergency.” Hardcase grinned at Dogma, who rolled his eyes in response. Needle was in the process of cleaning some of his equipment, although Dogma was unsure _what_ he was cleaning, but perked up at Hardcase’s statement.

“Always an honour,” he replied. Needle beckoned Dogma over to where he was sitting on the floor, and Dogma sat down opposite him, hands in his lap. “Just give me a second to get everything together, brother.”

Dogma sent a questioning glance behind Needle to where Hardcase had seated himself on a bunk, and he gave him an encouraging grin. Thankfully, the room was empty and quiet apart from the three of them

“What’s your name, brother?” Needle asked with his soft voice, fiddling with his equipment.

“Dogma.”

“Nice to meet you, Dogma. I’m Needle,” he said, smiling. “I have some flimsy here if you’d like to draw out what you’re interested in getting.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dogma replied. He wasn’t going for something dramatic or meaningful; he was going for something practical. “I want to emulate my armour, which has V-like shape across the face.”

“Okay, so something like this?” Needle asked, tracing his fingers from near Dogma’s right temple, down past the left side of his nose, and back up again over his left eyebrow.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

He could see Hardcase blinking rapidly in surprise behind Needle, but he paid him no mind. Once Needle was settled, he got to work. There was no warning of incoming pain, because as troopers they had all become well accustomed to anything at this level, but it was not exactly pleasant. Especially when Needle reached the sensitive skin underneath his left eye. Dogma just watched the ceiling above Hardcase, thinking of that revolting idiot in the bar and occasionally letting his gaze drift to his friend’s excited expression.

It was only when he realised how close Needle’s face was to his own, eyes narrowed in concentration and left hand resting behind his head to hold him still, that he began to grow uncomfortable. Even if he hadn’t had an epiphany about his perverted attractions, he doubted he’d be completely fine with a virtual stranger being in such close proximity to him. Thankfully, it was at that moment that Needle leaned back and smiled, turning off the machine beside him.

“All done-”

“It looks great!” Hardcase interrupted, grinning from ear to ear, and Dogma could help but smile in return, his uneasiness forgotten.

“Go have a look,” Needle gestured to the adjoining ‘fresher “I took a bit of creative license, so let me know if you want me to fill it in.”

Dogma felt a buzz of excitement under his skin as he pushed open the ‘fresher door. The trooper in the reflection looked at him curiously, gently touching the tender skin under his eye that a deep maroon pattern was now occupying. It was him, Dogma realised, but it also wasn’t. He tilted his jaw to the side, immediately determining that he liked the angles of the shapes and patterns. It was odd to see something so striking on his face, but it didn’t feel wrong at all, it felt comforting.

Hardcase peeked his head in, “You’re not raising hell in here, so I’m hoping you like it?”

Dogma shot him a flat look through the mirror, but his lips twitched. “Yes, I like it.”

“I thought you’d lost you’re mind when you agreed to Needle’s design,” he laughed, entering the ‘fresher. “But it suits you. It’s a good feeling, right? Seeing a new face for the first time?”

It wasn’t a new face, Dogma corrected internally as he looked back at himself in the reflection, but there was a newness to it. And it _was_ a good feeling, he felt lighter than he had in a long time. Maybe this Dogma wouldn’t feel like such a failure. He shook himself from his thoughts and turned around to Hardcase.

“Aren’t you getting something as well?”

“Oh yeah, just some bullshit on my wrists,” he replied, rubbing the inside of his bare wrists. “Nothing nearly as cool as yours, though.”

Embarrassed by the compliment, Dogma led them both out of the ‘fresher.

This time, it was Dogma who waited on the same bunk as Hardcase received his new tattoos. Curious, he watched Needle press the tool into Hardcase’s skin with pinpoint accuracy, and it was hard to believe he’d let someone do that to his _face_. The two were joking and laughing, Needle’s gentle voice a stark difference to Hardcase’s deeper tone, and Dogma felt a tug in his chest at Hardcase’s carefree expression.

He couldn’t understand why someone with the same genetic code was just so much… _better_ than he was. In every way. But he could never hate Hardcase for it, or even be jealous like he was with Fives. How could he, when Hardcase had only ever shown him kindness? Sure, he teased him, but it was never cruel or humiliating. And he always felt better when he was around, more at peace or something; safer.

Dogma never used to be like that; comfortable in the company of another person, he had always sought solitude over socialising. Maybe he had changed more than he realised since deployment, the Dogma on Kamino would never have tattooed a giant V across his face, not even for the sake of recognition among other troopers. He wouldn’t have entertained the thought. But current Dogma had gotten a tattoo, learned to cheat at sabacc, apologised to Tup, and made a new friend.

All of those wildly impossible just a few months ago.

And it was Hardcase that had been the difference, he realised. The positive influence. A wave of affection washed over Dogma as he watched Hardcase laugh with Needle, he supposed it made sense that the things he had changed about himself came from being in the company of someone he trusted. He’d never be well-liked like Tup, he was far too abrasive for that, but he could handle being tolerated.

Hardcase rose from the floor, his tattooed wrists apparently completed.

“Alright, just so you’re aware Dogma, the tattoo won’t need to be protected at all,” Needle said to him. “I’ve been able to source new properties for them. Now get outta here you two, Wooley’s coming by any minute now and I need some peace and quiet before that hits.”

“Good luck,” Hardcase grinned and jerked his head towards the door. Dogma followed him out of the room, but not before giving his thanks to Needle.

“Alright,” Hardcase turned to Dogma when they were in the corridor, waving his wrists at him. Despite the erratic movement, Dogma could make out a similar blue lined pattern to the one on Hardcase’s head and back. There was an apparent theme with his tattoos, it was not nearly as random as Hardcase had described.

“Looks great,” Dogma responded genuinely. Hardcase was positively brimming with energy, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and Dogma couldn’t help but absorb some of that contagious excitement.

“Celebratory drinks?” Hardcase raised his eyebrows, a cheeky grin on his face.

Dogma balked at that, but quickly settled his nerves. With Hardcase so elated and his own happiness buzzing through his veins, it was very easy to say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this one, but just a bit of a reprieve before we hit some more ~drama~.


	13. Realisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for self-hatred and violence with related dark thoughts. Also gaslighting related to sexuality. Please beware if these topics are difficult or upsetting for you.

Somehow, 79’s is even more daunting the second time. The lights seemed brighter, the music louder, and the strange combined smell of booze and vomit stronger. He did not belong in a place like this, everything was just Too Much and it was far too stressful to be enjoyable; which he was sure was the opposite of it’s intended effect. But he could do it for one night. For Hardcase.

And to be honest, he wasn’t having a completely terrible time so far. He, Hardcase, Tup, Jesse, Fives and Kix were crammed into a booth, the lining was digging uncomfortably into Dogma’s back through his civvies and the bitterness of his drink remained on his tongue for an unseemly amount of time after each sip, but he was still somehow mildly enjoying himself. Jesse was midway through a likely made-up story of various midnight shenanigans on Coruscant, and Dogma found himself easily laughing along with the others at the escalating ridiculousness.

“-No, shut up, I swear it happened. There was like twelve tookas in her apartment, I counted.”

“I bet you she stole them, they’re everywhere on the lower levels.”

“Imagine cleaning up after those things.”

They hadn’t even made a big deal over Dogma’s new tattoo. There was only a double-take at his new appearance, a compliment, then they accepted it and moved on. Tup had stared at him for a prolonged amount of time, his face endearingly scrunched in confusion, and Dogma found that he was amused rather than annoyed. It was rare that he ever caught Tup off-guard with something that didn’t involve him acting like a dickhead, and it was a good feeling. Eventually, Tup shook his head and smiled, settled on a “looks good”, and they jumped in the shuttle.

Dogma’s lips twitched at the memory.

It was uncomfortably warm in 79’s, not warm enough to remind him too much of Thyferra, but enough to make him yearn for the crisp air outside the bar. It didn’t help that he was partially squashed into the corner of the booth by Hardcase, his body heat radiating against Dogma’s arm and causing his face to flush. He had read somewhere that alcohol can make the user feel warmer, but three and a half drinks for a clone was not much at all, so he didn’t expect it to have too much of an effect on him just yet.

And he wasn’t letting it get to that point either. Dogma liked to be in complete control of his mind and body, and after what happened with Spark last time, he knew better than to indulge. The others were at least two drinks ahead of him, which he didn’t mind, but he was well-prepared for when the teasing would surely start.

“Alright, I’m getting us another round. I’m fucking _tired_ of Jesse’s bullshit,” Hardcase said, resting his hand on Dogma’s shoulder to push himself up out of the seat and past Fives. Dogma’s face grew hotter at the contact.

“I’m telling the truth!” Jesse huffed indignantly, but even he was laughing at his own dramatics. Hardcase ignored him and weaved his way towards the bar, the only sign he’d been drinking was a very slight stagger and slower recovery when another trooper accidentally bumped into him.

“You couldn’t drag Rex out here?” Kix said, speaking to Fives. With Hardcase momentarily gone, Dogma had a full view of the confident and relaxed trooper.

“Nah,” Fives replied, taking a gulp from his glass. “He’s got some business with General Skywalker. You know, important things.”

“I would have thought the General would be attending to his own, uh, _important things_ right now,” Jesse said, and the three of them snickered into their drinks. Tup made eye contact with Dogma across the table, his expression reflecting his own confusion. It was inappropriate to gossip about superiors, but Dogma couldn’t be bothered trying to stop them at this time. Maybe the drink _was_ having an effect on him.

Tup gave in to curiosity, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, I forget how young you guys are,” Fives replied. _We’re probably a lot younger than you think_ , Dogma thought, remembering Hardcase’s reaction when he had told Brent he was nine. “General Skywalker thinks he’s being discreet with his secret affair with the Senator from Naboo. It’s quite funny, actually.”

“I feel a bit bad for him,” Kix said.

“I don’t”, Jesse replied, giving his friend a strange look. “Have you seen her?”

“Well, obviously she’s nice looking. But I meant that he has to keep it a secret at all, with all the jedi rules and all that.”

“It’s only fair,” Fives said, sitting straighter. “Why should we be the only ones with bullshit rules controlling our lives?”

Jesse muttered a ‘here we go’ into his glass, but Dogma watched Fives closely and took another sip from his drink. It was not so bitter now, only soothing. He wondered if Fives knew _all_ the rules that ‘controlled their lives’, if he would eradicate all of them if he could, or would he leave the ones that governed things that he was uncomfortable with. He was always talking about their rights and freedoms, but Dogma had a feeling his crusade would not include the rights and freedoms of people like him and Spark. The clones with something defective in their minds.

Hardcase was taking a real long time with the drinks.

Dogma tried to let the negative emotions leave him and look for his friend. He scanned the crowd; there was significantly more troopers in the room than when they had arrived, perhaps another unit had recently landed, but he eventually spotted the tattooed back of Hardcase’s head still at the bar. Dogma frowned. What was taking so long?

Fives had finished his impassioned speech that Jesse, Kix and Tup had long stopped listening to, it was unfortunately significantly enhanced by the alcohol, and followed Dogma’s gaze.

“Oh dear,” was Fives’ response, but he was smirking.

“What’s he doing?” Dogma asked, trying to see what was so amusing. The others weren’t paying any attention to their conversation, they likely thought that Fives was continuing his crusade.

“His best.”

It was then that Dogma realised that Hardcase wasn’t standing there alone; a pretty orange-skinned twi’lek was next to him, and even from where he was sitting, Dogma could see that Hardcase was enamoured with her. She was not nearly as enthusiastic as him, though few were, but she appeared to be willing to engage in conversation.

The air around Dogma somehow felt even warmer. Fives rejoined the conversation with the others, and Dogma burned. He could feel it under his skin and in his temples, his stomach turned and he gripped his glass impossibly tight. It was a familiar feeling for him now, jealousy, but he’d never had such a systemic reaction. And it had never been directed towards Hardcase.

It was an odd sensation, feeling the pieces of a puzzle join together in his mind. Dogma might be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid.

He was not interested in women, he knew that. Perhaps he’d always known that. He felt nothing for the twi’lek woman.

He _was_ interested in men.

But not men like General Skywalker, who he objectively knew to be attractive.

Men who looked like him; clones.

But not all of them, not the ones who were sitting in the booth, booze spilling from their glasses as they laughed.

Just the one at the bar right now, who had only ever shown him kindness.

He was interested in _Hardcase_.

Dogma was vaguely aware that his ears were ringing. This was so much worse than he’d thought. And he knew now from experience that once a box had been opened, it could not be closed. What had he done? The blast of the music was too loud, the air was too heavy and warm, and he needed to get out of here. Dogma rose from the seat, choked out an ‘excuse me’ and ‘’fresher’ as he slipped past Fives and staggered towards the door, bumping into troopers as he went.

The vague smell of piss and vomit in the ‘fresher was enough to send him hurtling towards a stall, where he ungracefully emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. His throat burned, but not as much as his eyes, and Dogma was able to silence the sound of his sobs against his sleeve. It was all just _so unfair_. And also _so_ painfully obvious when he thought about it. Of course he liked Hardcase, how in the galaxy could he not? Perhaps he was even a little bit in love with him, though Dogma did not know what love felt like. His novel, _Eternity_ , did though, what had they described it as? Nothing came to mind except the way Seela and Cotan had constantly stared at each other from across the room for unreasonable amounts of time.

Hardcase didn’t look at him like that.

Dogma squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to calm down as he remained on his knees over the toilet. _It’s going to be okay_ , he told himself, _I’ll just go back to the barracks and sleep it off, maybe I won’t even remember any of this bullshit tomorrow_. That was highly unlikely, but right now all Dogma wanted was to believe his own delusions. Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet and smoothed down his civvies. Thankfully, no vomit had migrated to his clothes. It was going to be _okay_.

He left the stall in a hurry and nearly made it to the exit, only stumbling slightly, when he made eye contact with the trooper looking in the mirror. Any semblance of calm shattered, with rage quickly replacing it. How fucking ironic that he’d see this asshole in here _again_.

“Is that you, Dogma?” Spark asked, considerably more sober than their previous 79’s ‘fresher meeting. “You alright?”

Dogma just stared at him, so struck with anger that he couldn’t move. It was difficult to put into words how much he _hated_ Spark, but everything that was causing him grief at the moment was his fault.

“You need me to help you get back?” Spark continued, unaware of Dogma’s black rage. “It’s only fair after last time, I guess.”

Spark thought he was plastered, which made sense since he’d probably heard him puking his guts up a minute ago. Spark strode over to him, reaching to grab his elbow for some kind of balance assistance, and Dogma snapped.

“Fuck _off_ ,” he hissed at him. Spark took a step back, his face hardening.

“Oi, watch it. I’m just trying to help.”

He reached for his elbow again, and this time Dogma shoved him away. His blood boiled in his veins, and he could see Spark’s demeanour change as he regained his balance.

“What is your _problem_ ,” Spark glared at him. Another trooper exited a stall and they both stilled, he eyed the two of them warily through the mirror as he washed his hands. When the ‘fresher door closed behind him, Spark continued. “You can’t even bear to have me touch you now, is that it?”

Spark must be more drunk than he looked to say that out loud, even in an empty ‘fresher.

“Of course that’s it,” Dogma shoved him again, and this time Spark pushed him back. Clones were built to fight, although not each other, and Dogma could feel a burst of adrenaline at the suggestion of one. It grounded him. “You’ve _ruined_ my life.”

He should probably just leave and let this go, there was nothing to be gained by arguing with Spark in a ‘fresher in the middle of the night. But Dogma didn’t want to gain anything, he was just angry and hurt. And now, so was Spark.

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” Spark spat, his face contorted in an ugly expression. “I never understood how Tup could stand to be around you, but he left you at the first chance, didn’t he?”

Dogma swung at him.

The comment didn’t hurt at all, how could it, when it was true, but Spark wanted him to react with violence. Dogma could see it in his stance and in his eyes, Spark was just as geared up for a fight as he was. And right now, Dogma didn’t have the self-control to stop himself. Nor did he want to. Maybe Spark would hit him hard enough to cause a concussion and he’d just forget the past couple of hours.

Spark was grappling with his neck and Dogma landed a blow to his stomach, relishing the audibly pained release of air. His recovery was quick however, and Dogma felt the burst of pain in his jaw before he even saw the fist. Spark had always been one of the best on Kamino at hand-to-hand combat, and this wasn’t a fight Dogma would start if he actually wanted to win. He wasn’t even sure _what_ he wanted, but for once he let his body overtake his mind.

It was an ugly fight, to say the least. Dogma was swinging freely now, only rarely connecting with his target, and Spark grabbed one of his arms as they both struggled to overpower the other. It was then that Dogma heard the ‘fresher door open.

“What the- what the _hell_ is this?” he heard the trooper say before strong hands ripped he and Spark apart and held them there. Dogma’s stomach dropped when he saw it was Fives, his _superior_ , looking both concerned and appalled. Troopers got into ‘fights’, which were more like friendly sparring matches, but very rarely did they ever try and actually hurt each other. It just wasn’t what brothers _do_. As Dogma raised his eyes to look at Spark, his deep breathing mirroring his own, he thought there was a hell of a lot of things that ‘brothers didn’t do’ that they indulged in. Or at least in Dogma’s case, thought about indulging in.

“Well?” Fives asked, giving them both a shake. “What the fuck is this about?”

“Sorry sir,” was Spark’s response as Dogma stayed quiet. The rush of adrenaline was gone, the anger remained, but it had been joined by shame. He was a terrible brother, in every sense.

“Well,” Fives repeated when it was clear they were both not going to elaborate. He let go of their shoulders. “Whatever is going on, sort it out. I won’t report either of you, but if this happens again, I’ll bring it to Rex. Now, piss off.”

Fives was angry with him, and that made Dogma feel even worse than ever. He could hear Spark behind him as they left the ‘fresher and wove through the crowds towards the main door, music booming in time with his heart and taking over his mind. He could get lost in that feeling, he thought, the feeling of both nothingness and energy. Dogma didn’t even look in the direction of the booth he knew would contain the others; the shame was too palpable. A tiny part of him hoped that Spark would glass him the moment they stepped outside, the pain in his jaw and vibration of the music still wasn’t enough to distract him from his thoughts.

But Spark didn’t hit him. He didn’t even look at him. He just strode off down the street, the neon lights capturing his form in different shades of blue, red and purple. Dogma silently watched him go, stretching his aching hand and letting the cool night’s air wash over him. His anger seemed to slowly dissolve with the change in temperature, but his face still burned with embarrassment. What the _hell_ had he been thinking? Not much, obviously. Or too much. Either way, Dogma was fucked.

The shuttle ride back to the barracks was a dismal affair, all the air and energy had left him and all that remained was a horrible empty feeling that was chewing away at his insides. _It’s not the end of the world_ , a tiny, forgiving part of his mind supplied. _You’re overreacting now, you’ll be fine tomorrow_. His mind was only partially right.

It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was the end of _his_ world. How could he look Hardcase in the eye now? Or Fives, who had seen him mid-meltdown. Or Tup, who Fives would surely inform, and would know just how bizarre it was for Dogma to get into a fight in a ‘fresher. His reputation had been irreversibly damaged, and he had no one to blame but himself.

There was Spark, who was easy to blame, but deep-down Dogma knew that he wasn’t the one at fault here. This… _problem_ that he had; it must have existed before Spark dumped all his shit on him. Spark had awakened it, yes, but for something to be awakened it must exist in the first place.

Ugh. What a disaster.

Somehow, Dogma’s second trip to 79’s had gone even worse than the first. Way worse, in fact.

It was quiet at the barracks, and Dogma took solace in it. The troopers who weren’t sleeping were out having a good time, probably without even having an existential crisis about their sexual preferences. Good for them. The room was dark when Dogma arrived and climbed up to his bunk. He briefly considered collecting a datapad reading the novel fro some comfort, but immediately dispelled that notion. The last thing he needed right now was to read about two attractive beings in a mutual, legal and loving relationship.

* * *

The next day, Dogma slipped out of his bunk in the early morning and avoided anyone he knew like his life depended on it. There was no opportunity for anonymity now; he had a beacon across his face to let people know who he was. It was very unfortunate timing to get a tattoo.

So, Dogma was left to slinking around the 501st barracks like a goddamn criminal, hoping that neither Hardcase, Fives or Tup would run into him. He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded where he could just relax and not have to worry about being seen. Such a place likely didn’t exist on Coruscant, or at least didn’t exist for a clone.

On his fourth inconspicuous loop of the barracks and surrounding area, Dogma saw a tiny slip of alleyway between two buildings about a hundred meters from the 501st barracks. It looked dark and cosy and exactly what he needed right now. As he drew closer to his new haven, it became clear that he wasn’t the only one who thought it looked like a nice spot. Lots of troopers had shaved sides and wavy hair, but not many scowled with distaste when they made eye contact with him. Though they probably should. After avoiding Spark for a reasonably considerate amount of time, he had now run into him twice on Coruscant within twelve standard hours.

Dogma hesitated outside the alleyway, the lack of light and people called for him to come and Spark’s silent glare told him to piss off. But Fives had wanted them to ‘sort it out’, and although he didn’t particularly like Fives, he did respect him. And he was his superior, so he did have to do what he said.

Spark was seated on the concrete, forearms resting on his knees. With the cramped nature of the tiny alleyway, Dogma could fit opposite him if he shifted to the right. His armour creaked as he sat down. There was an awkward silence as Spark continued to glare at him.

“I’m sorry,” Dogma started. He was getting good at apologising now; this was his second time _and_ to someone he didn’t even like.

Spark didn’t care. “Fuck off.”

“No, I was… I was upset. You caught me at a bad time. I really am sorry.”

“I don’t care,” Spark said, leaning his head against the building behind him.

They sat in uncomfortable silence, and Dogma grappled with his thoughts. Luckily, Spark saved him before he could say something stupid.

“Are you following me or something?”

“No, it’s just a coincidence. I was looking for somewhere quiet.”

Spark nodded, seeming to accept this. “I come here a lot. It’s the only time I feel like I can get some privacy.”

He gave Dogma a meaningful look at this, but Dogma pretended he didn’t notice it. He didn’t want to spend any more time with Spark than was necessary, but there was something about this situation that _felt_ necessary.

“I know you don’t like me,” Spark said. “Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual. But there’s a real easy way you can get rid of me.”

Not this again.

“I’m not doing that,” Dogma said with finality. He likely wasn’t ever going to report Spark, but now he definitely couldn’t go through with it. He’d be a hypocrite.

“Why?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“It wouldn’t be _right_?” Spark repeated, incredulous. “Did I knock your head too hard or something? There’d a whole lot ‘not right’ with this situation, you reporting me would actually right some wrongs. If I get decommissioned or reconditioned or whatever they do these days, I would be able to forget and _you_ can pretend like I never existed. Tup already has. It’s a win-win.”

Dogma was silent for a second, “Tup already has?”

Spark held his gaze, “Well, yeah. Neither of us were good enough for him, so he moved onto better things. Like ARC troopers.”

Spark winced at his own words; ARC troopers were still a sore spot for him. But Dogma felt immediately defensive of his oldest friend.

“Tup hasn’t forgotten about us. Fives has really helped him develop as a trooper, and we were never really compatible friends anyway. But we still get along. Besides, we’re in the GAR, making or keeping friends isn’t important.”

“Whatever you say, Dogma,” Spark said, breaking eye contact. “Anyway, just fucking report me.”

Dogma sighed, “Why don’t you just report yourself, if that’s what you really want?”

“Can’t,” Spark replied. “As far as I’m concerned, the Kaminoans believe that such a ‘heinous crime’ can’t be self-reported. Revealing something so disgusting about yourself is just not possible to them, and you must be covering for some other crime.”

Spark spoke with cruel sarcasm; it was clear he did not think of himself as ‘disgusting’. Dogma wondered how he had gotten to such a point of denial that he thought what he was doing, what he _was_ , was anything other than heinous.

“Do you think Tup would report me?” Spark asked suddenly.

“I don’t know,” Dogma replied, his voice quiet. He had wondered the same thing.

“Maybe I’ll just throw myself off a building or something.”

Dogma’s heart leapt, “Don’t do that, please.”

Spark looked at him again, searching his face for a second. “Fine.”

Once again, they sat in silence. It really was a very peaceful alleyway, present company excluded, the walls of the opposing buildings acted as effective sound barriers, and the bustling noises from the street seemed miles away. It was dark enough where they were sitting that passersby did not see them, and unless you were specifically looking for a place to hide from the world, the alleyway went completely unnoticed.

Dogma could even see himself even falling asleep in here, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.

“We’re not so different, you and I.” Spark said, breaking the silence. Dogma kept his eyes on the alleyway entrance. Spark was more right than he realised, but he was also very wrong. “We’re both assholes.”

Dogma coughed at that, hiding the twitch of his lips.

“And we both don’t like Fives.”

“What,” Dogma spluttered. “I don’t… I don’t _dislike_ Fives. He’s a fantastic leader. And, well... since when don’t you like him?”

“I don’t like anybody,” was Spark’s simple reply. “And I _know_ you don’t like him. You make this face whenever he talks.”

Spark scrunched up his nose, looking both disgusted and mildly constipated. Dogma flushed.

“I do _not-_ ”

“Yeah, you do. Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone has noticed,” Spark grinned, clearly enjoying himself. Dogma glared at him, but he wasn’t really too mad. It was much better seeing Spark happy, although being a dickhead at his expense, than it was seeing him depressed. It didn’t matter that he didn’t really like him, he was still a brother. A brother that he had punched, but a brother, nonetheless.

_Maybe he wouldn’t feel so helpless and self-destructive if he didn’t feel so alone?_

Dogma squashed that thought immediately. He wasn’t sacrificing himself for _Spark_ , of all people. He might drag him down with him, for all he knew. Spark was unstable, Dogma couldn’t rely on him not being vindictive and crazy. But… maybe it would be helpful for himself too, just to get these emotions off his chest before they caused him to implode. A win-win, as Spark had said before.

The judgement and mocking would be terrible, but a superior had already looked at him with immense disappointment, he could handle Spark’s gleeful ridicule.

“I… I suppose you are right,” Dogma said, his voice shaking slightly. But he looked at Spark head-on; he was _not_ a coward. “We are similar.”

“Well, I said we weren’t so different, not that we were _similar_ ,” Spark replied casually, sweeping his hair back from his forehead.

Dogma took a breath, “No, I think we are similar. Just… just not how you think.”

He should really just spit the words out, but he wanted Spark to figure it out for himself. That way he could gauge his reaction and see if there was still an opening for him to back out, maybe even to turn the truth into a lie to save himself.

“And how’s that?” Spark asked, finally looking a bit curious. Dogma didn’t say anything, he just looked at Spark, alternating his gaze between his eyes and his hair. Spark had nice hair, he realised. “You might want to elaborate, because I’m making all kinds of assumptions.”

Dogma clenched his hands tightly in his lap, “What’s the worst one?”

Spark was silent.

Dogma held his gaze.

“I don’t think you want to know,” Spark said finally, breaking eye contact. But he looked back a Dogma almost immediately, looking extraordinarily confused. “What are you playing at?”

Dogma shrugged, feeling his confidence waver. He was never much good at mind games or manipulating how people thought of him. Maybe he should just stick to what he does best; logical honesty.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Spark replied immediately, as if it were a well-practiced response. He shuddered and his eyes turned cold and hard. “What the _fuck_ are you playing at, Dogma?”

Dogma blinked, this… wasn’t going well.

“I-I’m not playing at anything, I swear,” he replied, almost afraid. So much for having an opportunity to back out, he was laying it all out there now. “I really don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not sure you even realise what you’re implying,” Spark said, glaring at him. Neither of them were saying the words, for speaking them into existence was too terrifying. Terrifying for Dogma, who was afraid of who he was, and terrifying for Spark, who was clearly still suffering.

“It’s why… It’s why I’ve been so angry with you,” Dogma said, powering through. “I’ve been blaming you-”

“Your weird guilt trip has nothing to do with me,” Spark snarled. “This is a sick joke, Dogma. Don’t fucking _mock_ me with whatever the hell this is. Piss off.”

Spark was vibrating with anger, and really, Dogma should have seen this coming. Spark always had a quick temper. But he found he couldn’t do anything else but stare with wide eyes at the trooper opposite him; why couldn’t Spark just read his mind, it would make everything so much easier. He needed to spell it out to him, force him to acknowledge that Dogma was being serious.

“I’m attracted to clones,” he said. No going back now. “It was always there, but-”

“You are not attracted to clones,” Spark interrupted, his anger seeming to subside a little with the full-on confession. “I would have known, I would have _noticed_.”

“If you could let me finish,” Dogma snapped at him. “I think it was always there, but when you confronted me in the medbay that time, it suddenly seemed possible.”

“No, that is insane, Dogma.” was Spark’s reply. Completely dismissive.

Dogma glared, hating him even more. “Are you telling me what I’m feeling?”

“I’m not trying to tell you anything. But, Dogma, this is _you_ we’re talking about. Mr Perfect.”

Dogma huffed, “I think we’re both aware that I’m very far from perfect.”

Spark watched him closely. He did not look angry now, only very confused, his brows pulled together in a deep frown. Spark was one of the very, _very_ few troopers who was the same age as him, but oddly, Dogma had never felt so much younger than a brother in his life. There was something very aged to Spark’s expression.

“But… well… have you ever even kissed someone?”

“No, I’ve never wanted to before,” Dogma said. Did he want to kiss Hardcase? A new box opened, and Dogma felt his heart flutter painfully. He _did_ want to kiss Hardcase. Oh dear. “But I do now.”

“Ugh, if this is your weird way of asking me to hook up with you, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Dogma glared hatefully at him. “No, I’m not talking about _you_.”

“Good. Anyway, my point is, this is all new to you. You don’t really know what you want just yet.”

“Yes, I do.”

Dogma had understood what he wanted since the day he could form complex thoughts. He wanted to be a good soldier. He wanted to follow orders. He wanted to impress his superiors. He wanted to join Torrent Company. He wanted Tup to cut his hair. He wanted Hardcase.

_He wanted Hardcase_.

“Fine,” Spark said, sighing in frustration. “Maybe you’re just interested in strong men with nice long hair, you wouldn’t be alone in that.”

It was Dogma’s turn to be confused, “What? I have no interest in long hair.”

“Oh, I assumed that we were talking about Tup.”

“ _What_ ,” Dogma choked out. “Of course not!”

Spark tilted his head, “Well then who… oh, Hardcase.”

Dogma made no attempt to deny it, “You can’t say anything. Please. He can never know.”

“I won’t,” Spark said, and Dogma believed him for some reason. “Okay then, maybe you’re just interested in strong men with no brain, also very common.”

Scowling, Dogma was well set to begin a rant about how Hardcase wasn’t stupid, he was just hyperactive. And he was extraordinarily observant and caring. But Spark didn’t let him start.

“Never mind,” he held up a hand. “What I’m _trying_ to say is that you’re probably freaking out over nothing-”

“This is not _nothing_ , you idiot!” Dogma was losing his patience; Spark hadn’t reacted at all how he was expecting him to. This chaotic, rollercoaster of a man was completely ignoring his concerns. What did he know, trying to tell him how his brain worked?

“Will you shut up, honestly. Yes, it isn’t nothing, but you’re dealing with new emotions and you’ve latched them onto the first person who’s looked twice at you.” Spark leaned back and gave him a look that could maybe be seen as comforting. “That’s seriously so normal, nothing about this situation is worth pulling your hair out over yet.”

“But-”

“And besides, there’s nothing wrong with it anyway,” Spark continued, frowning. “Just some stupid rules and regulations that were created to control us even more.”

Dogma sighed. This conversation wasn’t getting him anywhere. Spark didn’t understand him and didn’t really bother trying to, but Dogma shouldn’t have expected it from him. They may have a bit in common, but there was no friendship or even respect, really. If Dogma wasn’t so embarrassed by it, he would have told Spark of the dreams he’d had. The dreams of _clones_ , not just any random men, or even Hardcase at that stage. He wondered if Spark had had the same thing, whenever it was that these feelings were awoken in him.

“Dogma,” Spark said, capturing his attention again. “Why don’t you have a night out to yourself, go meet some people.”

_People that weren’t brothers_.

“Those haven’t really gone well for me so far,” Dogma responded, wincing internally.

“That’s because you went to 79’s,” Spark rolled his eyes. “I mean literally anywhere else. You’d be real popular. Us clones aren’t bad looking, you know. _And_ you’ve got a tattoo now.”

Maybe there was some truth to what Spark had been saying; he really did only have social interactions with troopers, and he’d thought many times of how kind Hardcase was. Maybe… maybe there was a chance he had just manifested these feelings for Hardcase out of loneliness, which was definitely not outside the realms of possibility.

_But the dreams…_

No, the dreams were a product of rehab and lack of social interaction, nothing more.

“Is there anywhere that you’d recommend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a blast to write. I want to be clear: Spark is not the moral authority in this story (though I hope this is obvious). He is wild and damaged, and doesn’t really care enough about Dogma to take him seriously or give him great advice (when he’s in a fantastic position to support him). The talk was more about Dogma getting things off his chest, and he’s smart enough to not take everything Spark says to heart. The gaslighting is not something I support, but honestly it is enjoyable writing a morally grey character. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Personally, star wars swears are so jarring to me when I read them, so they'll be in this story very rarely (let the clones say 'fuck'). Also, while I love star wars, I'm not super knowledgeable about the lore so if you see anything that makes zero sense in the context of canon, let me know lmao.


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